Avengers: Unbreakable
by N-Vision
Summary: A serialized AU origins story. When those you love most are taken from you . . . what are you prepared to do?
1. Chapter 1

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 1**

**Blamannsison Glacial Valley, Norway**

_Don't look down. That's how you die._

He dangled one leg precariously over the cliff's edge, feeling with his foot for any ledge or foothold below. The blowing snow pestered his cheeks like gnats, and the bluish glow of the endless polar twilight bathed him in otherworldly light. He clung fiercely to the icy rock with his arms and strong shoulders, because they were all he had to cling with – his other leg, the lame one, splayed uselessly behind him.

_There has to be a way. There has to be a ledge or something. I know it's here._

His foot touched something solid, and he began to ease his weight over the edge. But the chunk of ice he had stepped on proved treacherous – it broke loose and plummeted into the dark chasm below, shattering into a hundred meteoric fragments as it gathered speed. His bum leg slid over the edge, and suddenly he was grappling furiously with the ground, desperately trying to hold on as his body dangled down the cliffside. But ice was all his hands could find. He felt himself slipping.

"Oh God!" he cried, as more of his weight slid over the edge. "HELP! HELP ME!" But he knew it was useless. He was miles from any human habitation. "HELP!" he cried instinctively once more. Then he was falling.

For a split-second, he felt his body careening down the sheer face of the icy rock, the heart-in-your-throat weightlessness of free fall. Then, just as quickly, he felt his foot – his good one, sound and strong from years of having to do extra duty – land hard on solid rock. It held firm. He scrambled frantically with his hands for some scrap of rock to hold himself in place, and found an ice column he could cling to in a bear hug. He pulled himself tight against it and waited.

One second. Two. Yes - he was on solid footing. He dared to look down, and saw that he had indeed landed on a narrow ledge that ran away to his left. Just above his head was the top of the cliff.

_I'm alive!_

He leaned his head against the column of ice and took deep, calming breaths. "Oh thank God," he said aloud.

Then, very gingerly, he began to slide along the ledge. It widened as he went, and after a few steps, he could turn and stand sideways. He rotated another 90 degrees, turning his back to the cliffside, and leaned back against it, taking in still more calming breaths. He avoided looking down.

After a few more minutes to steady himself, he looked along the ledge again. A few steps away, it turned a corner on the cliff face.

_That's where it should be._

He moved in that direction, limping on the bum leg. Sure enough, when he rounded the corner, he saw that a cave opened in the sheer cliff wall. He stepped inside, pulled his parka hood back and shook the snow out of his hair. Then he sat down on a rock. He pulled a flashlight out of his pocket and looked into the cave.

"This looks like the place," he said. He took out a piece of paper and studied it. Then he got up and moved deeper in. When he'd gone maybe 20 feet, he pulled a tape measure out of another pocket and started taking measurements. "Right about . . ._ here_," he said.

He reached into a small pack, pulled out a miniature pick, and began chipping away at the layer of ice that coated the cave wall. As the chips flew, a small grotto began to appear. He shined the flashlight into it – and caught his breath.

_There it is!_

He couldn't believe it! He put his hand into the grotto and pulled out a wooden staff. It was a little over four feet long, made of birch, intricately carved with runes and pictographs. He held it in the air reverently, shining the light on all sides, drinking in the view he'd waited so many years to see.

_The Staff of the Wanderer! _

He moved back toward the mouth of the cave, where there was more room. When suddenly he heard . . . voices? _Impossible!_ Then he saw the beam of a flashlight swing past the opening of the cave. And he was sure of it now – voices, several men. _They followed me!_

He looked back at the staff. "It won't matter," he thought. "In a few seconds, it won't matter at all." He knelt down on the cave floor. Just then, he saw a dark figure, bulky in a thick parka, silhouetted against the sky behind the cave opening. A flashlight suddenly beamed into his eyes, blinding him.

"Dr. Blake?" came the voice.

"No!" he cried. Then he raised the staff into the air and brought it straight down against the hard rock of the cave floor. Nothing happened.

_What?_

He raised the staff and struck it again. Still nothing.

"Dr. Blake!" the voice said again, and now other men were gathering at the front of the cave.

He pounded the staff over and over against the cave floor. "No!" he cried again. "No! No! NO!" But all it produced was the thin whack of wood striking frozen stone.

The parka-bulked figure reached him now. Pulling his hood back and raising his goggles, the figure again shone his flashlight straight into the eyes of the man with the staff.

"Dr. Blake," the voice said in thickly Scandinavian-accented English. "You are under arrest!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 2**

**Offices of the Foundation for Biophysical Research, New York**

"Okay, let's get started."

The fragile-looking director, with more degrees than he had hair left, leaned into the microphone.

"I think we all know why we're here." He glanced over at the PowerPoint title screen just flickering to life in the darkened room. _Geez. Even his slides look ridiculous. _ "Breakthroughs in harnessing the subatomic properties of organic growth."

He glanced out at the members of his Board of Governors who had assembled for the pitch, and wondered which one of them let this guy get so far in the process.

"Dr. Henry Pym is the world's foremost researcher in the, uh, admittedly fringe field of extra-natural means of cellular growth, and the foremost proponent of a class of subatomic particles that can facilitate such growth, named, appropriately – Pym Particles."

He paused and made a show of suppressing a snicker.

"The proposal for which he is requesting funding is entitled 'Breakthroughs in harnessing the subatomic physical properties of organic growth.' Please join me in welcoming Dr. Henry Pym."

In the corner, a man with sharp-cut, handsome features silhouetted against the projector light rose to his feet. He'd been staring at his shoes while he listened to the introduction. It was always painful, hearing their disdain. When he reached the podium and faced the grim masks of the governors' faces, his self-consciousness grew.

"Thank you allowing me to come."

Sixty minutes later, his self-consciousness had metastasized into full blown embarrassment. Talking for an hour, and not a single question. _This is not going well._

"So in conclusion, I submit to you that these data demonstrate Pym Particles to be real physical phenomena. They can be observed. Their properties and characteristics aren't fully understood yet. But they can be harnessed. Their effects can be predicted. All of this is still to be confirmed through further research of course. But this is the direction my future work will be taking. Understanding and harnessing these particles has the potential to unlock a whole new paradigm of how biological change can occur. With applications we can't even imagine now. In short, I submit to you that my research matches perfectly the goals of this foundation, and I respectfully ask your approval of my funding request. Thank you."

There was no applause.

The director re-approached the podium. "Any questions for Dr. Pym?"

Silence.

"None?" Even the director found the moment awkward. Finally, one of the governors spoke up, his tone thick with sarcasm.

"So what are we talking about here, Dr. Pym, some kind of giant man, running around stepping on cars?"

Scattered laughter.

Pym swallowed his anger and re-approached the podium.

"No. Or, actually, I _don't_ know would be more accurate. We're a long way from testing this on humans. It hasn't even been tested on a living organism yet. So it's way too early to say what the implications might be for humans."

"Uh huh," the first man replied. "Well maybe it can have military applications. You know, grow termites into dive bombers, that sort of thing."

More laughter.

"I think—" Pym began.

"I think we're out of time," the director interrupted. Thank you Dr. Pym for that . . . _interesting _presentation. If you'll excuse us now, we'll have our deliberation, and inform you of our decision shortly."

Pym nodded reluctantly, then walked out of the room. He took a seat in the empty anteroom to wait. It hadn't gone well. _But_ s_urely _someone_ in a group of intellectuals like that saw the potential here._ He _had_ to get that funding. Without it, he knew there was no way he could perfect the device.

He felt like he'd barely had time to sit down when he heard the call from the doorway. "Dr. Pym?"

_That was fast._

"They'll see you now."


	3. Chapter 3

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 3**

**New York **

The dark-haired man with the goatee and wraparound shades powered his red Ferrari convertible out over the Triborough Bridge, headed from Manhattan into Queens. The Smashing Pumpkins' "Rocket" came on his XM radio, and he cranked up the car's state-of-the-art sound system to let it roar. Two busty young women rode with him – a blonde riding shotgun and a brunette in the back - their long hair flowing in the wind.

His cell phone rang.

"Tony Stark." He listened a second. "Yeah, I'm on my way." He listened a second more. "Alright. See you there."

He tossed the phone in the back seat and gunned the accelerator. The girls squealed with excitement.

Moments later, the Ferrari screeched to a stop outside a concrete fortress of a building that bore the name and logo of his company - Stark Industries. Stark jumped out, the girls trailing behind him, and approached an unassuming steel door.

"Command the door to open, ladies," he called condescendingly.

One of them giggled. "Open, door!" she cried. Nothing happened.

"You must not have used the magic word," Stark said, sliding up close to her.

"What's the magic word?" the girl asked, putting her arm around his shoulders.

"Tony Stark is amazing."

"That's not a word."

"Try it."

"Tony Stark is amazing!" the girl cried. Still nothing.

"Hmm. Maybe it was Tony Stark is so good in bed."

The girl looked at him skeptically.

"I'm serious, I think that's it. Try it."

"Tony Stark is so good in bed!" she cried.

The door still didn't open.

"Actually, that wasn't the magic word. But that's definitely going on my Facebook page." Stark held up a tiny video camera he'd been hiding in one hand. The girl slapped him on the rear.

"Open!" Stark cried. And the door began to swing open on thick metal hinges.

"Voice recognition," he whispered aside to the girl. Then he led his groupie duo down a long, dark corridor.

They arrived at what looked like a firing range in the heart of the building. A crew of scientists worked furiously at consoles that faced a thick plexiglass shield. On the other side of the shield, pointed away from them, stood an artillery-sized cannon-looking device. A target sat propped on a tripod at the far end of the range.

One of the workers welcomed him. "We're ready."

"Alright, let's fire this baby up!"

The crew all grabbed safety glasses. But Stark, sans glasses, opened a small door in the plexiglass shield and stood on the other side.

"Mr. Stark, shouldn't you stay behind the shield?" the worker asked.

"Why? I already know what it's gonna do."

The worker hesitated. Then he turned and gave the go-ahead nod to two men who began typing commands into the keypads in front of them. A noise like a small jet aircraft powering up rose from the equipment around them, then a pulse of energy blasted from the nozzle of the barreled device. At the far end of the range, the target exploded.

Stark gave a triumphant cry, and the scientists in the control room all applauded, slapped backs and shook hands.

"Wait a minute," Stark said. He walked to a nearby cabinet and opened it.

"Put that out there."

Two workers pulled from the cabinet an enormous pumpkin, and carried it to the target spot, straining under its weight. Stark was already typing commands into the keypad himself as the men rushed back behind the shield, and the device started powering up again.

Stark smiled. "I love the sound of Smashing Pumpkins."


	4. Chapter 4

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 4**

**Larchmont, New York**

Henry Pym pulled his Buick LaCrosse into the driveway of the home that doubled as his lab. Behind it, Long Island Sound spread out like a sapphire mirror. He shook a lock of sandy blonde hair out of his face as he walked through the door.

The woman who greeted him could have been a model. Her long dark hair poured luxuriantly down to her shoulders, her hourglass figure hugged deliciously by a tight black sweater. Only her Slavic accent gave any hint to the fact that her past bore no resemblance to modeling.

"How did it go?" Maria Trovaya asked her husband.

"Same as it always does," Pym answered, dropping his keys on the kitchen counter.

Maria pouted.

"It's so frustrating," Pym sighed. "You know, the scientific community can be the most unscientific people in the world. If you're not towing the party line, you're considered a freak. I'm really close, Maria. Close to harnessing the power of these particles. But why is it that scientists, of all people, can't accept a truly breakthrough idea?"

Maria moved around the counter.

"Come on now," she said, her voice a purr. "It can't be that bad."

"Yes it _is_ that bad," Pym continued, heading for the living room sofa. "I mean, this guy asks me if I'm going to become some kind of Giant Man. They're laughing at me Maria. I'm telling you, they think I'm a freak." He sat down.

"I don't know. Maybe I should just give up this stupid research. Maybe I _am _a freak."

"No, you're not," Maria answered.

"You don't know. You don't see what they write about me – hear the things they say about me."

"No. But I know something about the 'party line.'"

Pym paused and looked at her, then nodded. _She's right about that._

"Back in Serbia," Maria continued, "when Anna and I were just starting to get on the party's black list, they sent men to the university to spread lies about us, discredit us. They said that Anna and I were teaching students to hate their country. So we get called before the national academic board, and we had to defend ourselves against this garbage. Here are all these professors sitting around in judgment of us like we were some kind of criminals. People smart enough to know better! I tell you, I was so angry after that I wanted to pack up my office and quit right on the spot. But Anna talked me out of it. She said, 'You mustn't quit Maria. The world needs you.' It took me a week. But I began to realize, she's right. If I quit, who will carry on? So I pushed back - against the system, against the party - because _someone_ had to do it."

She moved closer to Pym.

"And the same is true for you now. You mustn't quit. Because _someone_ has to advance the frontiers of science. And the world needs it. The world needs what Henry Pym can bring to it."

"It's not the same thing," Pym said. "You were this bold resistance figure. I'm just a lab rat."

"Yes it _is_ the same thing. What you are doing is as bold in its own way as anything I did back in Serbia. And you can persevere too, as I did."

"Yeah, and look what it got you: a political refugee."

"Yes," she said, but she smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "But it led me to you didn't it?"

"So you don't think I'm a freak?"

"Well, I don't know about _that_," she answered coquettishly. "In bed? I think you're _totally_ a freak."

"Uh huh," Pym murmured.

"But in the lab? No. In the lab, I think you're a genius." She giggled and pressed her nose against his. "In fact, I think you should go down there right now and prove all your naysayers wrong. Try something bold. Try something you've never tried before. Meanwhile, I'll fix us some wine and cheese . . . and then maybe later . . . you can let me bring out your 'inner freak.'"

Pym looked at Maria like a schoolboy with a crush on his teacher. _She's too good to be true._

"That sounds . . . great," was all he managed in reply.

"Alright then," Maria said, bouncing up and pulling Pym up with her. "I'll go find a really special bottle of wine. And you –" she smacked him on the butt - "you go find the New World, Dr. Pym."

Maria bounded out of the room, and Pym stood there a moment more, thinking about what she'd said.

_Try something bold. _

"Yes," he said, and he turned and started for the door to the flight of stairs that led down to his basement lab. "It's time to try something bold."

Melissa, a local college student and his part-time lab assistant, was already there. When she heard his footfalls on the stairs, she hurriedly closed out of the job hunting website she'd been browsing.

"Melissa!" Pym called loudly. "We're testing tonight!"

Melissa smirked sarcastically. "Oh boy."

"Something bold!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 5**

**Stark Industries Global Headquarters, Queens, New York**

Tony Stark walked into his office - a luxurious suite occupying an expansive corner of Stark Industries' main administration building overlooking Long Island Sound - to find an unexpected visitor waiting for him.

"Hey! Didn't expect to find the CEO sitting around waiting for little old me."

Howard Stark rose from a chair and shook hands with his son. "Well, I had to congratulate the great inventor. I heard good things about the repulsor test."

"Oh. Yeah," Tony answered dismissively. "I guess it went OK."

"OK? Tony, that repulsor has the potential to be the biggest breakthrough this company has seen in years. It's got enormous application potential. Doesn't that seem worth doing to you?"

"Well . . . Dad," Tony began sarcastically. "You see, I just can't figure out a way to use it under the hood of a car. So I guess I don't see the potential."

Howard scoffed. "Tony . . . son . . . you're the most brilliant, most gifted man I've ever known."

Tony was pouring himself a drink. "Okay, Dad, we don't have to have that conversation right now."

Howard talked over him. "Yes, yes we do. You have the intellect to accomplish things I can only dream of. But you've got to use your gifts for the greater good of humanity, not wasting them on fast cars and faster women. You've got to be ready to take over this company when I'm gone."

"No Dad. Being the CEO of Stark Industries is your thing. Not mine. I'm not cut out for that."

"How can you say that?" Howard said. "I've got guys lined up a mile deep who'd kill their own mothers to be CEO of this company. Lesser men than you. And you say you're not cut out for it?"

Tony paused. "I guess I just haven't figured out what I want to do with my life."

Howard studied Tony. But he didn't scold him this time. Instead, he drew close and looked his son in the eyes.

"That sounds like _me _talking . . . 30 years ago."

Tony couldn't hold his father's gaze and looked down.

"Look, son," Howard went on, "do me a favor, okay? Just think about it. You're _clearly_ the most qualified person for the job, and I'm not getting any younger. I'm not asking this for me. I ask this for the whole human race. Stark Industries needs what Tony Stark has to give. The _world_ needs what Tony Stark has to give. So just promise me . . . you'll think about it. Okay?"

Tony hesitated. Then he got a sarcastic gleam in his eye.

"I'll see if I can fit it into my schedule. I've got a drag race to go to tonight."

Howard shook his head, but he chuckled.

"Drag race, huh? Fine." He turned to leave. "Well while you're there, you can think about how to miniaturize that repulsor of yours. I looked at your specs. If you could reduce its weight to power ratio, you could use it for flight."

Tony's glass was halfway to his lips when his father said this, and it never finished the journey. Because in that instant, Tony Stark got the greatest idea of his life.


	6. Chapter 6

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 6**

**Fifth Avenue, New York**

They could have been shooting the cover of a fashion magazine.

The gaggle of young women, laughing and chatty, were dressed in the best: Sergio Rossi heels, Armani skirts and blouses, Longchamp handbags. They strolled down the East Coast's most famous shopping boulevard with the carefree confidence that comes from years of experience with one unassailable reality: the world belonged to them. Daughters of New York's rich and elite, these were the genetic progeny of the most powerful and beautiful people on earth, polished to brilliance by years of the best education, health care and cosmetic enhancements.

Knowing that the eyes of everyone around were probably on them, they made a point of swinging into the Louis Vuitton boutique like models on a runway – all elegance and posturing. Once inside, they descended on the sales staff and merchandise with the gusto pro athletes might display pulling up to the training table.

"I can't believe he thought you'd go with him to _that_ party," said one. "Like, didn't his Dad just get fired from the CEO job at that investment bank? So who's gonna party with him anymore?"

"Oh that is _so_ not you," said another, eyeing a friend holding a blouse up to herself. "Show some cleavage baby – you paid enough for it."

"Janet," said the first girl, "Didn't that guy go to Yale with you?" She turned to where Janet van Dyne was absently thumbing through a magazine.

Unlike the other girls, whose plastic, overdone cosmetics were the visual equivalent of eating frosting, Janet van Dyne's beauty came effortlessly. A short-cropped haircut framed a pretty, oval face with a warm smile and bright, laughing eyes. Her athletic figure was lean and sexy.

"Uh, yeah," Janet said. "And he used to work in my department."

"Oh, he was so full of himself," said the girl.

_And you're not?_ Janet thought.

After a half-hour of materialistic engorgement, the group headed back outside, arms laden with bags. A messenger with thick, round glasses and water-high pants had to cut through them to make a delivery. "Excuse me," he called in a high, nasal voice. Fortunately, he entered a doorway only a few steps up the street, and so was spared having to witness the mockery the rich girls made of him.

"Excuse me!" one girl aped, pulling her pants legs up and walking bow-legged. The other girls laughed. "Excuse me! Excuse me!" they mocked again.

Until Janet cut them off. "Come on guys, cut it out."

"Oh please! What do you care?" said one of the girls.

Janet's eyes drifted to the door where the nerdy message boy had just disappeared.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I've just always had a soft spot for . . . quirky."

As the girls entered Escada, a couple of blocks down, Janet's cell phone rang.

"Hi Daddy," she answered. Then she listened for a second. "Yeah." She listened a second more. "Okay," she said, slowly and awkwardly. Her expression grew concerned. One of her friends noticed. "Dad, what's wrong?" Janet said. She listened a second more. "Look, I'll be home in a little bit. We can talk then, okay?" She listened a second more. "I love you too. Okay. Bye Daddy."

"What was that all about?" said the friend who'd been listening in.

"I'm not sure," Janet replied. "My dad just calls and starts telling me something about 'if anything should ever happen to me, I want you to continue our research.' He's asking me if I've got backup files. I'm like, 'Dad, what's going on?'"

"Must be some important research," said the friend.

"Not unless he knows something I don't. That research is public domain. We're just experimenting with the effects of certain types of radiation on the different cellular structures of various organisms."

"Whatever _that_ means," said the friend.

Janet grew thoughtful. "Then he tells me he _loves_ me."

"Ooh, I _hate_ it when old people get all spooky like that."

Janet looked annoyed, but she said nothing. Instead, she looked down at her cell phone again, and decided she'd better head home right away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 7**

**[Previous relevant chapter: 1]**

**Midtre Halogaland Police Station, Norway**

Dr. Donald Blake sat in a metal folding chair before a metal folding table in an otherwise barren white room. The door opened, and in stepped an officer with the Norwegian Police Service. He paused briefly as he entered and made sure Blake saw him smile. Then he closed the door and walked over to stand across the table from him. He carried a thick file. He spoke excellent English, with a Scandinavian accent.

"So Dr. Blake . . . I suppose 'welcome back' would be the proper thing to say, would it not?"

"Or 'thank you,'" Blake replied.

"For what?"

"For finding that staff."

"Ah, of course. And let me guess. Your interest in that staff was purely scholarly, no? You had no intention of selling it on the black market."

"Based on the thickness of that file you're holding, I'd say you already know the answer to that," Blake said.

The official looked down at his file and smiled again. "Yes, let me see . . . Borgefjell National Park last year, Storebjorn Mountain the year before, Raggejavreraige cave before that . . . shall I go on?"

"And how many of the antiquities that I found did I steal?"

"That's because you were caught, was it not?"

"Not always."

"Ah, not always," the official said, smiling again. "But this time you were." He leaned down over the table between them. "Dr. Blake, help me understand . . . . Why does one of the leading cardiac surgeons in the world have such an obsession with ancient Nordic artifacts, eh? Why go climbing around in the caves and mountains of Norway? Shouldn't someone like you be sunning himself on the Riviera or yachting in the Caribbean?"

Blake shook his head. "Norse antiquities interest me, that's all I can say."

"They interest you?" the official said. "Well let me tell you . . . you interest _me_, Dr. Blake. Fourteen trips to Norway in the past three years, always the same – poking around in caves, hiking into high mountain dells, and occasionally finding something in them, yes, but Dr. Blake . . . they are _Norwegian_ national artifacts. They are _ours_. Not yours."

"And you wouldn't have even known they were there, right under your noses, if not for my efforts."

"Agreed. At least, we wouldn't have known right then. Eventually someone would have found them. Someone more . . . qualified. You see Dr. Blake, you miss the point. Every time you come to Norway, it's not just that you go looking around for old artifacts. But very often, someone has to go looking for _you_. If not for our service, you could have been killed a half-dozen times over these last three years."

"A risk I'm willing to take."

"Well I'm not!" the official shot back. "Dr. Blake, I and my service, we grow tired of having to go find you and bring you in time after time. You've become a risk to yourself, you've become a risk to my men. Someday one of them is going to get hurt or killed on an expedition to find you."

"Then stop looking for me," Blake said.

"Yes, that's one way," the official said. "But we have another. A more practical one." He removed from his file Blake's passport. "Dr. Blake, I am sorry, but you have left us no other choice. We are an open and tolerant people, but even we have our limits. Effective immediately, you are banned from any further visits to Norway."

"What!" Blake cried.

"Your passport information has been distributed throughout our immigration network, and if you try to enter Norway again, you will be taken into custody and put back on the next plane, boat, car or train you came in on."

"But you can't do this! My research, all my years of research, will be wasted!"

"Your safety, Dr. Blake. Yours and that of my men. That is my concern, not your research."

"But what about the artifacts I've found?"

"Which again misses the point, Dr. Blake. Eventually one of your little adventures is going to result in me being forced to have an unpleasant conversation with someone's widow or bereaved mother. And that is a scenario that neither I nor my service want to contemplate. No, Dr. Blake, this decision has not been taken rashly nor lightly. And it _is_ final. You have made your last hiking trip into our mountains. You are banned from ever visiting this country again."

The official turned toward the door.

"You know, in a way, it does make me sad to have to do this," he said. "Because whatever it is you were looking for here in our country . . . you will now surely never find it."


	8. Chapter 8

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 8**

**Previous relevant chapter: 4**

**Henry Pym's basement laboratory, Larchmont, New York**

Henry Pym, with his lab assistant Melissa, worked diligently in front of an array of screens that would have done an air traffic control center proud. Pym's eyes darted from one screen to the next, ever so cautiously entering the most delicate calibrations for an apparatus that sat on the far side of the room. It was roughly booth shaped, a little taller than the average man and the width of two or three people combined. A half-dozen enormous magnets were arrayed around it, along with a smorgasbord of gas canisters, laser cannons, wires, casings, and more. As Pym entered the final calculations, Melissa applied her diligence to chewing her gum. Her skepticism was obvious.

"Magnetic field?" Pym called.

Melissa looked at a screen and read a long series of numbers back to him.

"Particle count?"

Melissa looked at another screen. "Reading optimum right now."

Hank sat back and took a deep breath. "You checked the seals on those canisters?"

Melissa looked back at him with an expression of "seriously?"

"Alright, alright." Pym looked down and kneaded his hands. "I'm a little nervous I guess. First test on a . . . living organism."

Melissa looked back at her computer screen, unimpressed.

"Our test subject?" Hank said.

Without even looking at him, Melissa held up a pill bottle-sized glass container. In it, a tiny Acorn Ant scurried in circles, searching endlessly for a way out. Pym took the bottle and held it close at eye level.

"Alright little buddy. You're about to make history."

He got up and walked over to the apparatus, opened the bottle's lid, and deposited the ant into a circular dish in the center of the device. Then he stepped back and flipped a switch, and a field of blue-green light surrounded the ant.

"That ought to hold you."

Pym returned to the console.

"Ready Melissa?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she replied dryly.

"Okay. Here we go."

Pym rubbed his hands together, then reached up and pushed a button to turn on video and audio recorders positioned throughout the lab.

"Pym Particles . . . first test in vivo. Ant test 1 . . . a common Acorn Ant will be our test subject. Previous tests on living tissue in vitro have shown promising results, as documented in previous logs. Today we test how the complexity of a complete living organism affects the behavior of the particles."

Pym paused to check the displays and panels one last time.

"And on my mark. 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . initiating magnetic field."

A low hum filled the room.

"Releasing particle suspension gas," Pym said.

A thin hiss rose over the hum.

"And we have contact with test subject . . . now."

Pym looked up at a monitor carrying the video feed from a camera mounted at point blank range from the dish in the center of the apparatus. For a second, nothing happened. Then suddenly, the ant began to grow. Incredibly fast. Supernaturally fast! Pym's jaw dropped open. He glanced down from the video screen to look directly at the apparatus from across the room, and even from this distance, he could see the ant, though still small, becoming visible in the dish, growing exponentially larger with every second.

"It's working!" Pym cried. He checked some displays.

"Test subject now 750% of original size. And still growing!"

The ant kept growing at this incredible rate for a few seconds more. Then Pym looked back up at the video feed and saw it all go terribly wrong.

The pronotum of the ant began to grow explosively fast, infinitely faster than the rest of the ant's body. In a split-second, it had become a grotesque, swelling disfigurement protruding horribly from behind the ant's head. Pym was just about to reach for the kill switch when the ant's overstrained body reached its breaking point and exploded. Even over the hum in the room, they could hear ant guts splatter on the inside of the device.

Pym and Melissa both recoiled instinctively, then stared in disbelief at what they'd just seen. After a few seconds, Pym recovered himself and started flipping off switches. The hum and hiss in the room died down. All was silent.

After a long pause, Pym remembered the devices still obediently recording the proceedings.

"Ant test 1 . . .," he said. "Fail."

Pym rubbed his face with his hands and looked down.

"Melissa, do a vivisection on that, will you?"

"Why me? You killed it."

"Because you're the lab _assistant_. That's what lab assistants do, right?"

"Whatever."

Melissa got up to go recover the exploded ant. Hank hung his head once more.

"So much for trying something bold," he said under his breath.

He stood up and headed upstairs. As he had done coming down, he started talking before he reached the top.

"The test failed, Maria. Something went haywire with the cell response, but just on one part of the ant's body, and –"

Hank froze when he reached the top of the stairs and saw Maria turn toward him, cell phone still in hand. She was crying.

"What?" he said.

"It's Anna," Maria said. "They got her."


	9. Chapter 9

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 9**

**The home of Henry Pym and Maria Trovaya, Larchmont, New York**

"Who got Anna?" Pym asked Maria. He'd just come upstairs from a disastrously failed experiment in his basement lab to find his wife crying with a cell phone still in her hand. "They got Anna," is all she had said.

"The SDB," Maria replied.

"The secret police? But they were disbanded years ago."

"No. No. That's what the government wants the world to believe. But they still operate, only underground. Behind the scenes. Not openly, like in the old days. But they're just as real. Just as deadly." She paused. "And they killed my sister."

Pym moved across the room and gathered his wife in his arms. "I'm so sorry."

"I should have been there."

"Anna knew that you loved her," Pym said. "Even miles away. I promise you." He brushed her hair out of her face. "Even in that moment."

Maria shook her head and looked down.

"I have to go back."

"What?"

"I have to go back."

"No. That's out of the question."

Maria talked over him. "I will be there for my sister's funeral!"

"If you go back, they'll try to kill you too!"

"If I _don't_ go back, I will have failed her a second time."

"Maria, it's notsafe."

"Then it must be _made_ safe Henry!" she exploded. "Someone has to stand up for my sister! The people of Serbia need to see that the bonds of family and freedom are stronger than the bonds of oppression! That we will not cower in fear at these wanton acts of murder! I _will_ go back for my sister's funeral, and I _will_ stand up! Again! As I did once before!"

Pym released his wife and walked over to the kitchen counter.

"Maria, I understand how you feel. You're very emotional right now, and with good reason. But this is not the time to be making a decision on going back."

"And when _is_ a good time? I can't wait forever, her funeral will be over!"

"I just don't think it's a good idea, Maria."

"Hank . . . she's my _sister_!"

Pym said nothing for a long time – the silence stretched on for a full minute, then two. Finally, Pym drew in a deep breath and sighed.

"Alright."

Maria stood with her arms wrapped around herself. After another long pause, she spoke again.

"We need to leave tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Pym cried. Maria turned and glared at him, and Pym knew he should say nothing more.

"Alright," he said at last. "I'd better tell Melissa."

Pym headed to the stairs and started down, again talking as he went.

"Melissa! Maria and I are going to have to leave unexpectedly, and I was wondering if you could –" He stopped abruptly when he saw Melissa packing her things.

"Melissa? What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry Dr. Pym," Melissa said, continuing packing. "I was going to tell you before I left. I just . . . ." Melissa looked up. "I can't keep doing this. You know . . . the ant and everything."

"The ant? That was one mistake."

"No, Dr. Pym. It wasn't," she said. "It was the latest in a long string of mistakes. Look, you're a brilliant scientist and all. But your work is just . . . it's not helping my career to be here. You know what I mean?"

"No. I _don't_ know what you mean."

Melissa sighed. "If I stay here, no one is going to hire me. I'm going to get tagged with the same label you are."

"Which is what?"

Melissa hesitated.

"Fringe, Dr. Pym," she said at last. "It's . . . it's quack work. You have to know that."

Hank stared at her in stunned silence.

"I'm sorry," Melissa said. "I just don't think I can handle any more experiments like this."

Hank continued to stare at nothing. "Of course," he said hoarsely.

"I'm sorry."

"Okay."

Melissa finished packing her things. She headed toward the stairs where Pym was still standing halfway down. "Goodbye, Dr. Pym." Then she slipped past him as delicately as she could, and moved through the doorway above.

"Goodbye Melissa," Pym said haltingly. But the look of pained self-reproach stayed on his face for many long moments more after she was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 10**

**Previous relevant chapter: 6**

**The home of Vernon van Dyne, White Plains, New York**

Janet van Dyne opened the front door of the house she shared with her father - a tall, stately brick structure surrounded by woods - dropped her keys on the foyer table, and called out for her dad.

No response.

A long hallway led away from the foyer to the back of the house, near the end of which was an opening to a stairway that descended to a basement study. Janet started down the hallway, still calling as she went.

Still no response.

When she neared the end of the hall, she turned and started descending the stairs. Again she called out.

Still no response.

Finally she rounded the corner into the basement. And at last, breathed a sigh of relief. "There you are!"

Vernon van Dyne started. "Oh! Oh. Hello dear." He was the perfect stereotype of the aged, absent-minded professor: knit sweater, a thick, unruly head of gray hair, and heavy glasses. He was slender, with pointed features, but stooped from a lifetime of bending over lab work.

"Dad, didn't you hear me calling?" Janet scolded as she walked over and kissed him on the cheek.

"No. Sorry. My hearing's not as good as it used to be. When I get distracted by a project, an army could march into this place and I wouldn't know it."

As soon as he said this, he looked as if his own words had unnerved him. He glanced around as if considering the prospect. But Janet didn't notice; she was looking around at his workspace.

"Oh really? So what _are_ you working on?"

"Uh, nothing really," the senior van Dyne stammered. "Just tinkering."

"What is this?"

Vernon started nervously trying to cover up and stash papers.

"Ummm. Well, I didn't hear you coming you see."

"Deep space radio waves?" Janet said.

"Yes, well, that's just something that came in the mail today."

"Extra terrestrial communications?"

"Well I, uh . . . I . . . ."

"Dad, what is this stuff?" Janet asked.

Her father gave up, shut the drawer on the files he'd been trying to stash out of sight, and sat back down on a lab stool.

"I guess I should have told you."

"Told me what?"

"It's . . . it's a side project I've been working on. But . . . it's a little embarrassing, frankly."

"Dad, we're a team, remember?" Janet said. "You can tell me."

Vernon sighed. "I've been helping go over these data that come in from the SETI Project. Studying them for any sign of life. Any . . . extra-terrestrial life."

"But Dad, you're a molecular biologist, not an astronomer."

"I know. Like I said, I'm a little embarrassed about it."

"So is this why you called today? What . . . did an alien monster show up on your doorstep?"

Vernon chuckled. "No. No, after all these years, we've never heard a thing."

"Then what?"

Vernon cast a nervous glance at the drawer he'd just shoved the files into.

"I don't know, Shortcake. I guess I just worry too much."

"Shortcake." Janet smiled. "You haven't called me that in years."

Vernon looked at his daughter fondly. "Well, shame on me then. A father's never too old to dote on his daughter."

Janet studied him. "Daddy, are you sure everything's OK?"

"Fine, sweetie. Fine."

She walked around behind him and put her arms around him.

"Well listen," she said. "You know you don't have to be embarrassed about your quirky research around me. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for 'quirky.'"

"That's what your mother used to say."

"Well, she knew a genius when she saw one. So do I."

Vernon sighed. "I miss her."

Janet leaned her head down on her father's shoulder. "I do too."

"You know, at times like this, when she'd find out I was working on something . . . quirky . . . she'd come down here and say, 'Vernon, one day you're going to discover something that changes the world. But I'm not staying up for it.' And she'd go upstairs to bed. But when I'd come upstairs later, I'd find she'd left me a glass of sherry on the kitchen table."

Janet smiled. "She was a good mother. I was lucky to have parents like you."

"Bah. She was the one. I just sat down here in my basement, tinkering around with these old things."

"Well Dad, you may discover something that changes the world tonight." Janet raised up, stretched and yawned. "But I'm not staying up for it."

Vernon chuckled and put his hand on hers. "Alright. You go on up. I've got a little more to do here."

"You want me to fix you something to eat?" Janet asked.

"No, I'll make myself something when I come up."

"Yeah right, Dad. Since when have you ever cooked?" Janet leaned down and kissed him on the cheek once more. "Alright, suit yourself." She started to leave, then she turned back.

"Oh, I'll be home late tomorrow night. I have a party to go to for the university."

"Oh? Anyone interesting going to be there?"

"I don't know. Some guy named Stark. I've never heard of him. But they tell me he might be good for a big donation to the school, so I'm hoping to meet him."

"Stark. Howard or Tony?" Vernon asked.

"How should I know?"

"Probably that Stark boy whose dad runs the big military technology company. You be careful going to those parties with all those single men around. You're an attractive young woman. But you want a man of character. That's what counts. Not money."

Janet giggled. "Dad, don't worry, I can handle myself."

Vernon looked at her fondly again. "I know you can."

"Goodnight Daddy," Janet said.

"Goodnight . . . shortcake."


	11. Chapter 11

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 11**

**Previous relevant chapter(s): 1, 7**

**The cardiology practice of Dr. Donald Blake, New York**

Donald Blake walked the last of the day's patients through the waiting area to the exit door. "Now remember, stay on those meds," he briefed the man. "Don't skip a day. Do that, and keep up your walking, and we'll have you as good as new in no time."

"Thank you Dr. Blake," the man said. And he meant it. Dr. Donald Blake was not only one of the most skilled cardiac surgeons in the world, but also genuinely caring – a rare combination. The waiting list to become his patient was a year long.

The men shook hands, and Blake pushed the door closed behind him. Then he turned and headed back to his office. He had just sat down at his desk when his assistant walked by in the corridor.

"Dr. Blake, you're not working late _again_ are you?"

"I think so, Sylvia. I've got just a few more things to finish up here."

Sylvia looked at him. "This wouldn't have anything to do with ancient Norwegian artifacts, would it?"

Blake looked at her and chuckled. "Maybe."

"What is it about those things for you, Dr. Blake?"

Blake shook his head. "I don't know. I've just always had a fascination with Norse mythology and antiquities."

"Yeah, but how does a guy like you gravitate to Norse mythology? Did your parents take you on a vacation to Norway when you were little or something?"

"No. I don't think so," Blake said – but slowly, thoughtfully. "But I guess I wouldn't know."

"What do you mean?"

Blake turned and looked at her. "Sylvia, there's something I don't think I've ever told you. Do you know that I have no memory of my parents?"

"What? But you told me they died when you were six years old."

"They did. Or at least, I have a memory that they did. But I have no memory of a funeral either. For the life of me, I have no memory of anything about them whatsoever. I can't remember what my mother looked like. I can't remember ever hearing the sound of my father's voice." Blake shook his head and stared straight ahead. "Nothing. Does that seem strange?"

"I don't know. I guess it's possible your mind could have blocked the memories because they're painful."

"Maybe."

"But I'm sure it must be hard, not having any."

"I don't know. I don't really have anything to compare it to. It's just a hole, that's all. An empty space. It feels neither pain nor happiness, because there's simply nothing in it. But I wonder. Sometimes, when I'm out there searching for those artifacts – I don't know how to describe it - it feels almost like I could fill that hole. Like there's a missing piece of me, buried somewhere out there. And if I could find it, maybe that hole inside me would be filled."

He looked at her, embarrassed at his sudden display of transparency. "That doesn't even make sense does it."

Sylvia smiled. "I think I know what you mean."

"Anyway, maybe it explains my obsession with these artifacts. Maybe I'm trying to compensate for the lack of memories - as bizarre as that might sound."

He turned and looked down at a book on Norse mythology that lay open on his desk. "But I won't be going back now, I guess," he said. "So I guess it's over."

Sylvia came in and sat down across the desk from him. "Maybe not," she said, trying to be encouraging. "Maybe they'll reverse their decision someday."

"I doubt it."

Sylvia thought a moment. "Well, maybe you shouldn't work late then. You know, you _could_ take a girl to dinner once in a while."

Blake smiled. He got up, walked around the desk and kissed Sylvia on the cheek. "Sylvia, if I were going to take any girl to dinner tonight, it would be you." He looked back at the open book on his desk. "But I think I'll stay."

Sylvia sighed.

"Alright, suit yourself." She rose to leave. "But if you change your mind, let me know."

"I will."

"Goodnight Dr. Blake."

"Goodnight Sylvia," he said. And she left.

But he stayed late into the night, poring over volume after volume of texts on ancient Norse mythology. So late, in fact, that he fell asleep at his desk, his head resting on the books. And as he slept, he dreamed fitful dreams – of Vikings and sailing ships and feasting halls filled with beer and song. And of an object. A strange and mysterious object that appeared in all of his dreams. Yet despite that, whenever he awoke, he could never remember what it was.


	12. Chapter 12

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 12**

**Previous relevant chapter: 10**

**No. 7 Marquee nightclub, New York **

The music throbbed and the bodies gyrated on the crowded dance floor as Janet van Dyne and her friend Andrea cruised through the club. The garish lights glanced across their tight skirts and bare skin, transforming them into goddesses of sensuality. The men in the crowd turned and followed them with their eyes as they passed. But Janet and Andrea had more important things to accomplish than flirting a guy into buying them an overpriced drink. Andrea had to lean in close to be heard over the thumping sound, briefing Janet as they plowed through the throng.

"Now listen. When you meet him, turn on the charm, Okay? He's a sucker for a pretty face."

"Got it."

"But be careful. He's a pathological womanizer. You shouldn't have to put out to get a grant from him."

"I got it," Janet said.

"But at the same time, don't be a prude. We need this money."

"Okay, Andrea, I got it!"

They had reached the bottom of a flight of stairs leading up to the VIP section of the club. Andrea looked up.

"Alright. Here we go."

Tony Stark was partying and dancing in his own private area, cordoned off from the rest of the club and guarded by his own hand-picked bouncers. Gorgeous women hung on him like ornaments on a Christmas tree; beyond them, an entourage of friends and other hangers-on spun out in all directions. Janet and Andrea arrived outside the cordon.

"Mr. Stark!" Andrea yelled.

Stark turned around. "Yes?"

"Hi! Andrea Spector from the University."

"Oh yes! Of course!" To the bouncers: "They're OK. Let 'em in."

Andrea and Janet entered.

"I'd like to introduce Janet van Dyne from the school," Andrea said. Janet stepped forward and extended her hand.

"Pleasure to meet you Mr. Stark. I've heard so much about you."

Stark took her hand and held it as he resumed dancing. The way he couldn't take his eyes off her made clear he was enchanted. He assumed – since it was always the case – that the enchantment was mutual.

"Well, well, the pleasure's mine," he said. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Oh, no thank you. I have to drive home tonight."

"No you don't. You could come to my place."

Janet laughed coquettishly, but looked awkwardly at Andrea, who was already being left embarrassingly on the sideline. "That's very . . . _thoughtful _of you, but Andrea and I both have to get home tonight. Tomorrow's a work day."

"That's too bad," Stark said. "Considering, you know, you'd be like the _only_ girl in Manhattan not to accept the offer of a drink from Tony Stark."

"Well, we really can't stay long. I was just hoping to speak to you for a moment if I could."

"Uh oh. Is this the part where you hit me up for money?" Stark leaned in close. "Or is this the part where you secretly admit you'd rather take _me_ home than Andrea."

Janet laughed again. "Actually, this is the part where I ask whether that repulsor technology of yours might have applications for green energy in the developing world."

Stark became intensely focused then. "Well Ms . . .."

"van Dyne," Janet finished.

"Well Ms. Van Dyne. I see you've done your homework. Let's see, van Dyne. You wouldn't be related to Vernon van Dyne would you?"

"He's my father."

Stark looked off vacantly for a moment, thinking. "He was doing that work on radiation effects in humans wasn't he?"

"_We_ are doing it – together – yes," Janet corrected him.

"Yeah. Good scientist as I recall. We looked at some of his stuff. It was a little . . . quirky, maybe, for our purposes." He flashed a good-natured grin. "But judging from the product of his genetic code, I'd say he's clearly doing something right."

Janet sighed. She was going to have to do this the hard way.

"Now Mr. Stark. You know better than to make fun of a girl's father on a first date."

"Oh it's a date now," Stark said, smiling.

"Well, you never know where a new acquaintance could lead," Janet answered flirtatiously.

"Uh huh," Stark said, starting to dance again.

Janet leaned in close and started dancing with him.

"But right now, I have to hit you up for money."

"Is it for a good cause?" Stark asked. Their bodies were starting to move in synch now.

"A very good cause, Mr. Stark."

"I see. Well, if it's for a good cause."

"So how much can we count on you for?"

"Oh, you can count on me for as much as you need."

"Oooh," Janet said, turning up the flirt. "That's a lot."

"I have a lot to give," Tony said.

"Uh huh."

"What are we talking about? Fifty thousand?"

"Oh that would be very generous. That would meet . . . almost three percent of our need."

"A hundred?"

"Oh Mr. Stark. You said I could count on you for as much as I need."

"I did."

"My needs are . . . really strong."

"Really strong huh?" Stark was thoroughly enjoying this game.

"Almost irrepressible," Janet said passionately.

"I see. Two-fifty?"

"Oh Mr. Stark. You're too kind."

Stark grinned.

"You know, I hate coming to a party and getting fleeced by a woman who's both smart and sexy."

Well then, Mr. Stark?" Janet replied.

"Yes?"

"You should stop going to parties."

She stepped back and left him dancing by himself.

"Okay," he said. "I guess I had that coming."

"Well, like I said, we can't stay long," Janet said

"We?" Stark said. "Oh, yes, of course – Andrea! Great to see you again."

Andrea just smirked.

"So, you'll have your people get in touch with my people?" Stark said to Janet.

"Yes, absolutely. And thank you again."

"Hey, it's for a good cause."

"A very good cause." Janet and Andrea turned to go.

"Hey, seriously," Stark called after her. "Say hello to your father for me, okay? If there's anything I can do for him . . . or you - give me a call." He fished a business card out of his pocket and passed it to her.

"I will," Janet said, this time in earnest. "Thanks."

"That's got my direct number on it," Stark said. "I don't give that to everyone. So, you know, if those needs of yours start getting irrepressible again . . . ."

Janet laughed. "Goodnight Mr. Stark."

Janet and Andrea started back down the stairs of the nightclub.

"Irrepressible?" Andrea said. "Sheesh."

"Hey, I got what I came for didn't I?"

**The home of Vernon van Dyne, White Plains, New York**

Later that evening, for the second time in 24 hours, Janet van Dyne approached the front door of the home she shared with her father, Dr. Vernon van Dyne, late at night. Her high-heel party shoes clopped loudly on the walk, so she slipped them off and walked the rest of the way barefoot. As she had done the night before, she entered the front door, dropped her keys on the foyer table and called out for her dad. And as the night before, there was no response. She padded quickly down the stairs in her bare feet, rounded the corner into the basement . . .

And froze in terror at what she saw.


	13. Chapter 13

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 13**

**The home of Vernon van Dyne, White Plains, New York**

Janet van Dyne had just rounded the corner into the basement study she shared with her father when she froze, terrified at what she saw. The expansive room had been ransacked. Her father's equipment lay knocked over and broken in pieces, files lay scattered all over the floor and the countertops. All of the computers had been ripped out and were gone.

_Dear God, who did this?_ Janet was furious and terrified at the same time. But overarching them both, one immediate and overwhelming fear: _where's Dad?_

"Daddy?" she called, half-hoping now that she _wouldn't_ hear a reply. _Maybe he wasn't here when_ _this happened._

She advanced cautiously through the room, picking her way gingerly over broken glass and scattered equipment, calling out for her father. She glanced down and saw the files on extra-terrestrial communication lying amidst the chaos. "Dad?" she called again.

Finally she neared the back wall and saw a dark mass hidden in the shadows of the furthest corner. It looked like the crumpled form of a human body, lying still, almost invisible in its dark knit sweater. She didn't have to look any closer to know whose it was.

The scream that ripped through the basement could be heard in the neighbors' houses, 150 feet away.


	14. Chapter 14

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 14**

**Previous relevant chapter: 5**

**Stark Industries Global Headquarters, Queens, New York**

Tony Stark stood in his lab at Stark Industries studying an electronic wall display. His father entered. Tony spoke without looking.

"Twice in one week. I'm impressed."

"I just wanted to let you know I'm leaving you in charge," Howard Stark said. Tony looked at him now.

"In charge of what?"

"Just until we get back."

"Where're you going?" Tony asked.

"I'm taking your mother on that driving tour out west."

"Oh really?"

Howard Stark moved toward his son. "Yes. I've been promising it to her for years. I decided it's time I start taking seriously my commitments (he was standing directly in front of Tony now) . . . to my family."

Tony looked around him, keeping his gaze fixed on the wall display. "Well, Dad, I think that's wonderful."

"Then maybe you should try it sometime."

"Taking my mother on a driving tour out west?"

"No. Taking seriously your commitments to your family."

Tony was still focused on the display. "Well, I'd get right on that. But right now, since you've left me in charge, my schedule's pretty packed." Tony looked at his dad again. "Besides, I didn't commit to _becoming_ CEO. I just committed to _thinking_ about it."

Howard smiled, shook his head and started to leave.

Tony called after him. "Flight, you said."

"Eh?" Howard turned back.

"The repulsor. You said if I could reduce the weight to power ratio, it could have applications in flight."

"Yes."

Tony nodded toward the display. "Maybe something like that?"

Howard Stark turned to look at the display. His eyes narrowed with interest and thought, and he considered it silently for many moments.

"Well, well, well," he said at last. "Very interesting. Yes, quite possibly."

He started to smile, and his eyes brightened as he took in more of the details.

"Yes. Quite possibly indeed."

He studied a moment more, then turned to Tony. "Well, I'll look forward to seeing more of _that_ when I get back."

Tony nodded, and Howard turned to leave again.

"Hey Dad?" Tony called after him again. Howard looked back again. "Seriously. Have fun. I think that's really cool, what you're doing with Mom."

Howard smiled. "See you in a week."

Howard Stark walked out, and Tony looked back at his display. On it was an intricately detailed schematic of what looked like a modern, high-tech suit of armor.


	15. Chapter 15

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 15**

**Previous relevant chapters: 8, 9**

**Nikola Tesla Airport, Belgrade**

Henry Pym and Maria Trovaya stood patiently in cue, waiting to approach the immigration officers that would admit them into Serbia. Pym glanced around to see if his former political agitator-wife was drawing any undue attention.

"I'm still not convinced this is a good idea," he said.

"Hank, we talked about this," Maria replied. "Nothing is going to happen. Besides," she said, slipping her arm through his, "I have my famous American scientist husband by my side. Nobody's going to try anything with _him_ around, right?"

Pym looked pensive. "I'm not sure I'm the protection you think I am," he said.

An officer in one of the kiosks waved them forward. He took Pym's passport and swiped it through a scanner, then handed it back to Pym. Then he took Maria's and did the same thing, looked at his computer screen, and his eyes widened. Very slightly, Pym thought. But perceptible. The officer turned and exchanged a glance with an older official who was standing over his shoulder.

"Wait here a moment," said the older man in English. He disappeared for several minutes. Pym searched the face of the remaining officer for any clue as to the cause of the delay, but the man kept his eyes fixed on his computer screen.

They were there waiting long enough that it was starting to get awkward, when suddenly the older man was back. He stepped into the kiosk in an ostentatiously official-like manner, then flashed what seemed to Pym a patently artificial smile, and extended his arm, signaling them to pass through. But as they did so, he said, again in English: "Welcome back, Ms. Trovaya."

As they exited the airport a few minutes later, Pym turned to his wife. He was about to ask her if she thought it unusual that she had been welcomed by name, when he spotted in the crowd gathered near the airport entrance a handful of men dressed in what looked like they might be uniforms of some kind - black pants, black jackets and leather gloves. They were watching Pym and Maria. Pym turned away.

_Surely not._

But when he looked back a few second later, it was unmistakable: four of them, interspersed in the crowd, all with eyes glued to them.

Pym decided he would say nothing to Maria. Instead he hustled them into a taxi, and they departed for their hotel.

**Nevski Hotel, Belgrade**

Pym and Maria stepped out the front door of the hotel into the Balkan night, turned right, and started walking. Pym looked around again, but this time he saw no one that looked suspicious. Still, those earlier characters had made him nervous.

"Do we really have to walk?" he asked "Can't we take a taxi?"

"Oh come on," Maria said. "It's just a few blocks."

They were headed to the flat of one of Maria's relatives that had become a kind of de facto headquarters for Anna's funeral arrangements. Family members of course were coming and going, decisions were being made, and all this activity needed a base camp. It was why Maria had chosen the hotel they were in – it was only a short walk away through the city streets.

They walked on. After a couple of blocks, they turned down a side street. They were about halfway along it when they saw a line of people emerge from the shadows and take up positions across the street ahead. Pym's heart beat faster.

"Uh, Maria? How about we turn back." The confident air Maria had been projecting to that point evaporated in an instant, and she complied without a word. They reversed direction, only to find another line of shadows stringing out across the street and approaching from the direction they'd just come.

"This is not good," Pym said.

"This way," said Maria, and she led them down a side alley. But after a few seconds, they could see it was a dead end. They looked back to find the two groups of men had converged and were approaching down the alley behind them.

Pym started tugging on door handles. None opened. Then he started banging on doors.

"Hey, anybody in there?"

Maria screamed for help. But at this, the lead shadow pulled a truncheon from his coat and hurled it with expert aim. It smacked Maria's forehead, and she fell backward onto her tailbone, momentarily silenced. Pym rushed to her side, then stood and faced the attackers.

"I don't know who you guys are, but you're making a big mistake! We're Americans! We've done nothing wrong!"

The shadows kept advancing.

"Look, is it money you want?" Pym cried. "Here." He pulled out his wallet. "Take it!"

The shadows had reached him now, and they formed a semi-circle around him. Pym could make out the gleam of a wicked smile from beneath the leader's hood, and the shine of a gold tooth, prominent in front, with a silver star embossed on it. The man said something in Serbian, and two of the shadows moved toward Pym.

"What are you doing?" Pym said, fear making his voice tremble.

But the men said nothing; the first one simply took a swing at him. Pym ducked, then in an instant, instinct took over, and he threw and landed an efficient counterpunch that sent the attacker reeling. But the second man immediately caught him flush with a blow that nearly buckled his knees. He fired another fist at the second attacker, but the punch he'd just absorbed was already having an effect: his swing glanced harmlessly off the other man's shoulder. Pym was just rearing back for another try when he felt a crashing blow to his skull, and his vision went white. His knees almost completely gave way, but still he tried to turn to take on this third assailant. But now the first man was back and landed a savage blow to Pym's cheek.

Pym dropped to one knee, somewhere in his mind still trying to throw punches. But the men converged and rained blows down like thunder. Pym felt his skull pulsate twice, three times, and his vision blurred. White shards of pain seemed to shoot out in all direction from his eye sockets. He felt blows to his spine, his kidneys, his neck, and in seconds he was face down in a puddle of muddy water. He turned his head to keep from drowning. But otherwise his body would no longer obey the commands his mind was trying to give it. Through hazy vision, he witnessed what happened next.

The lead shadow now turned and addressed Maria, but it was in Serbian again. But through the fog, Pym distinctly heard his wife's name: "Maria Trovaya." Maria was still sitting in the street where she fell, but she was starting to recoil, looking around in terror. She was surrounded.

Several of the men drew out wicked-looking knives. Maria began to plead with them in Serbian. The lead shadow bent down and picked up the truncheon he had thrown, then straightening himself, smiled again, and said in English, "Welcome home."

Then he reared back and dropped a savage blow to Maria's head, and she screamed – a visceral, horrifying sound that Henry Pym knew even in that half-conscious moment would haunt him the rest of his life. Then all of them were on her, beating, kicking and stabbing.

As Henry Pym slipped into unconsciousness, his face half-submerged in mudwater, the last thing his battered senses absorbed were the sights and awful sounds - the dull thud of the punches and the nauseating crunch of the knives – of his wife being beaten and stabbed on the streets of the city of her birth.


	16. Chapter 16

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 16**

**Previous relevant chapter: 14**

**Gunnison, Colorado, USA**

Howard Stark, with his wife Maria in the passenger seat, steered their rented Lincoln Town Car out of the Gunnison-Crested Butte Regional Airport rental car lot and turned left onto Rio Grande Avenue. The wooded slopes of Gunnison National Forest loomed above them in the distance, and Howard knew that somewhere in that same direction lay the rugged beauties of Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park.

Howard Stark had traveled to nearly every country on every continent in the world. But he'd never been here. And he'd never been much of _anywhere_ in the car with his wife. Usually when they traveled by car, they had drivers. But usually they didn't travel by car – it was by corporate jet. Howard was looking forward to a week of low-tech time in those mountains with Maria.

"Which way will we go?" Maria asked him.

"Oh, I don't know," he replied. "Let's just start driving and get lost in those mountains."

Maria took his hand. "Sounds good to me."

They reached U.S. 50 and headed west. Within seconds, they were out of the small town of Gunnison. They came upon a nondescript county road that headed up into the mountains, and Howard turned onto it.

"I don't know where this goes, and I don't care," he said. "This looks as good as any to me."

Just then his cell phone rang. He picked it up and was about to answer it when he looked at Maria and froze. Her face told him all he needed to know. He put the phone back down, unanswered.

"We'll let Tony handle it," he said.

Maria smiled. But the mention of their only son got her thinking. "How do you think he'll do?"

"He'll be fine. He just needs to be _made_ to do it. Ergo . . . this trip." He laughed and looked over at his wife. "Although I'm liking this trip just fine on its own merits."

Maria smiled: "Me—"

Before she could say the next word, everything around them exploded in a tremendous crash. Glass shattered and flew in all directions, airbags blew, and the whole car lurched violently sideways. It slammed into the wall of rock that rose from the road's shoulder, hitting it with the force of a battering ram.

The last thing Maria Stark saw, before her head was smashed against the mountain through the now-shattered passenger side window, was the mangled form of her husband, his eyes locked open in a stare that she knew could only mean one thing.

* * *

Twenty minutes later and two thousand miles away, Tony Stark's cell phone rang. "Tony Stark," he answered in his usual manner. He listened briefly. Then his face slowly began to reshape itself into a frozen mask of abject horror.

END of PART I


	17. Chapter 17

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 17**

**Previous relevant chapters: 10, 13**

**The home of Vernon van Dyne, White Plains, New York**

Police cars with blue lights swirling crowded the house that Janet van Dyne shared with her father. Inside, in the basement, a half-dozen police officers and plainclothes investigators nosed around amidst the ransacked chaos of what had once been the elder van Dyne's study. Wearing white latex gloves, they picked through scattered files or shattered equipment, searching for any clues as to the killer of Dr. Vernon van Dyne.

Janet sat on a stool to one side, her eyes red and puffy, a handkerchief still in hand. The lead officer, an enormous black man in police uniform, propped his elbows on a countertop next to her and addressed her with superlative compassion.

"Ms. van Dyne, you don't have to stay down here," he said.

"No," Janet said, tears making her voice crack the instant she tried to speak. "I want to help if I can."

He looked at her for a moment, hesitating. Then he said, "Alright." He took out a notebook. "You worked with him, right?"

"Yes."

He looked around the lab. "Whoever did this was obviously looking for something. Any idea what it was?"

"No."

"Did your father have any enemies? Anyone who would have wanted . . .?"

"No, not that I know of."

"What did you work on down here?"

"We ran experiments on the effects of various types of radiation on organic tissue. You might find a way to treat cancer without harming healthy tissue around it, that sort of thing."

The officer nodded and looked down at his notepad. "Did you notice _anything_ unusual recently? Was he acting any differently, or did he say anything that struck you as strange?"

Janet paused to think.

"There was a phone call."

"Phone call?"

"Yesterday. He called me upset. Said he was worried about the research, but I couldn't figure out what he meant at the time. It was like he wanted to be sure that if anything ever happened to him, I would continue the research."

Janet looked up at the officer.

"And he told me he loved me."

The officer grew more intent.

"Do you have the time of that call?"

"It should be right here in my phone." Janet reached for it, but the tears were starting into her eyes again, and she fumbled with it and dropped it on the floor. This made her start crying all over again.

"When you're ready, Ms. van Dyne. I don't need it right now," the officer said. "I'm sorry to have to put you through this."

Janet lowered her face into her hands. "Thank you."

"Alright. We'll keep working on it." He placed a hand of comfort on her shoulder, then moved off to where another investigator was bent over a drawer that still had files in it.

"Anything?" he asked.

"No. But it's going to take a while to reconstruct things in this mess. Every drawer but this one is strewn all over the place."

"What's special about this drawer?"

"Nothing. I guess that's why they left it. It's just full of recipes. I guess he was a cook too."

"Alright," the lead officer said. "I'll see if the guys outside found anything." He left, and the investigator closed the drawer and moved to another part of the lab.

But Janet had overheard them. And even through her tears, as she had listened, she knew immediately that something wasn't right. Her father had _never_ been a cook. She had just kidded him about it the night before. Her suspicion was aroused.

She raised her head from her hands and watched the investigator move away. She glanced around: all of the police were preoccupied in their own particular areas of investigation. She got up, eased over to the drawer, sat down on a stool in front of it, and pulled it open. Sure enough, most of the drawer was filled with hanging files in alphabetical order on which were handwritten labels: lentil stew, Manhattan clam chowder, mustard-glazed ham. The A through K files had evidently been pulled out and tossed, but by the time the intruders had gotten to the "L"s, they had lost interest.

_This doesn't make sense. _Janet's suspicions grew.

Janet pulled out the ham file and looked in it. There, neatly printed on a 3x5 card, was the recipe. She returned it and pulled out another. Same thing. She rifled through the others. But when she got to the "S's," that's when she saw it – a file labeled "SHORTCAKE." She pulled it out and opened it.

Printed neatly on this index card was not a recipe, but these simple words: "Your mother would leave it out for me after she'd gone to bed."

In that instant, Janet van Dyne knew her father was still speaking to her, even from beyond his tragic death.


	18. Chapter 18

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 18**

**Previous relevant chapters: 9, 15**

**Anlave Diplomatic Clinic, Belgrade**

Henry Pym rose slowly through the fog of swirling pain and blackness inside his head, climbing in agony toward consciousness. When he finally awoke, he was lying in a hospital bed, with devices arrayed on either side of him, and tubes connecting them to his body. He realized he'd heard a voice. A voice calling his name. His one hope as he ascended into the waking world: _Maria_?

"Dr. Pym?" the voice said again. He looked down beyond the foot of his bed to see a young woman in a business outfit holding a portfolio. It wasn't Maria. The woman rose and walked around to the side of the bed.

"Dr. Pym, I'm Jennifer Lundy, with the U.S. Embassy staff in Serbia." She paused a moment to let him take this in. "How do you feel?"

Pym tried to follow her with his eyes as she moved, but it sent shooting pains through his skull. He closed his eyes and tried to speak instead.

"Maria," he whispered.

"I'm sorry?" Ms. Lundy said.

"Where's Maria?"

Ms. Lundy opened her portfolio. "Maria is your wife, right?"

"Yes."

She closed the portfolio and looked at Pym with consternation.

"Dr. Pym, I'm sorry to have to ask you this . . . but was your wife with you last night?"

Pym opened his eyes again and glared at the woman.

"Yes! What kind of –" A pain in his skull cut him short. He took a breath and continued at a whisper. "Why would you ask me a thing like that?"

"Was she with you when you were attacked?" Ms. Lundy said.

"Yes! For the love of God, why are you—"

"Dr. Pym, I'm sorry, but I'm just trying to piece together what happened."

"What do you mean? They attacked her after they attacked me. Where is she?"

Jennifer Lundy studied Pym with sadness in her eyes.

"Dr. Pym, I'm sorry, but . . . we only found you."

Pym felt like his heart murmured at this news, and his face flushed. He felt a tear roll down the side of his face.

"They murdered her and took her body," he said at last.

"Now Dr. Pym, let's hope for the best," said Ms. Lundy. "She may still be alive."

"Oh God! Don't patronize me! I saw them do it! They murdered her and took her body."

"Dr. Pym, please. You said you had already been attacked, right?"

"Yes."

"Then it's possible, isn't it, that you didn't see what you thought you saw, and she isn't dead. You took several hard blows to the hea—"

"I'm telling you they killed her, and I know who did it!" Pym cried.

Jennifer Lundy stopped short. "You do?"

"Yes. It was the SDB."

Ms. Lundy stared blankly at Pym for a moment, then looked down at her portfolio. "Dr. Pym, maybe I should come back and talk about this with you tomorrow."

"No." Pym said louder, and despite the pain, turned his head to look at Jennifer Lundy directly. "I don't need to talk about it tomorrow. I know who killed her. It was the SDB."

"Dr. Pym, the SDB was disbanded ten years ago."

"That's what they want everyone to think. But they flagged Maria when she came back into the country, and they sent their goons to kill her."

Jennifer Lundy again looked down, trying to be compassionate yet firm.

"Dr. Pym, I am so very sorry that this terrible tragedy has happened to you. But there is no evidence whatsoever to indicate that this was anything but a purely random crime. Now I suggest you get some rest, and we can talk about this tom-"

"We can talk about this now!" Pym cried, wincing with every word. "My wife used to be a political activist here! They killed her sister, and when she came back for the funeral, they killed her!"

"Dr. Pym, you're very emotional right now—"

"Damn right I'm emotional!" He shot a hand out and grabbed her by the wrist. "Now you listen to me! The SDB killed my wife, and they have to pay!"

Jennifer Lundy tried to jerk her hand away, but she couldn't break free. But Pym was still too weak to overpower her. A tug of war with her arm ensued. Ms. Lundy called for help. "Security!"

Seconds later, a security guard ran through the door, grabbed Pym's arm and forced him to let her go. She smoothed her clothing, grabbed her portfolio again, and glared at Pym.

"Dr. Pym! I am _very_ sorry you were attacked last night. I truly am. But you need to understand the facts right now. There's no evidence to indicate the involvement of any secret police or any other governmental or political entity whatsoever. There's not even proof that your wife was murdered. Nor that she was even attacked. Nor for that matter that she was even with you last night! Right now all we know is that you were the victim of an unfortunate but apparently random crime. And you're lucky to be alive."

Jennifer Lundy paused for breath.

"Now as a representative of your country's embassy staff I feel it imperative to advise you that you are on Serbian soil and as a result subject to Serbian law. If you keep on making allegations that the Serbian government or its political entities – past or present - were somehow involved in the death of your wife – whom right now we can't even say is in fact dead - then it will surely lead to trouble. It's a serious charge, and the Serbian government does not look kindly on nor take lightly such things. Keep it up, and you'll get yourself put on trial. In a Serbian court, Dr. Pym. Before a Serbian judge."

She leaned close to him. "And I truly don't want to speculate on where that might lead."

She paused and leaned back.

"So if I were you, Dr. Pym, I would get some rest. When you're well enough, you can file a report at the embassy. But for the love of God, do _not_ go around repeating that accusation you just told me."

Jennifer Lundy turned and started toward the door, then turned back. "We'll file a missing person report with the Belgrade police immediately," she said. Pym felt his heart sink. "But Dr. Pym, I'm afraid that's all we can do for now."

Ms. Lundy turned and walked out of the room, and the security guard, who had continued to press Pym' shoulders down into the bed throughout her monologue, released him. But Henry Pym, tears still trickling down the side of his face, just kept saying softly, over and over, to no one in particular:

"They have to pay. They have to pay. They have to pay."


	19. Chapter 19

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 19**

**Previous relevant chapters: 14, 16**

**Rick's Auto Salvage, Gunnison, Colorado, USA**

Harold Hogan pulled the massive armored limo to a stop outside the chain link fence of the junk yard. The sheriff's deputy's car was already there. Hogan jumped out, opened the back door, and leaned in.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

The passenger, Tony Stark, stared straight ahead through the sunglasses he wore even though the limo's windows were deeply tinted.

"I want to see the car, Harold."

Hogan sighed. He would have thought the trip to the morgue earlier in the day would have been hard enough on his boss. But then, Tony Stark could be intensely driven about certain things. It shouldn't surprise him that the death of his parents would be one of them. "Alright," he said, and he backed away. Stark got out and walked over to where the deputy was standing.

"Mr. Stark."

"Deputy."

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss," the deputy said. "I want you to know we've got every available officer out looking for the other vehicle."

Tony nodded.

"Alright then. If you'll follow me."

The deputy led Stark and Hogan into the salvage yard. They didn't have to go far before they came to the wreckage of the Lincoln Town Car.

"Mr. Stark, I should probably warn you . . . ."

Stark looked at him. "Yes?"

"We tried to clean it up. But . . . there may be blood."

Stark said nothing for a moment. Then he nodded and started walking toward the wreckage. The Lincoln looked like it had crushed by giant pliers. Both sides were badly crumpled, especially along the passenger compartment, and the front doors were gone; emergency personnel had used the jaws of life to remove the bodies of Howard and Maria Stark. Tony reached the wreck and stooped down.

"Deputy, would you mind if I had a moment alone?"

"Not at all sir," said the deputy. He turned and walked back to his vehicle.

"I'll step away too, sir, if you like," said Hogan.

"No Harold, you can stay," Stark said. He remained squatted down next to the wreckage, and lowered his head for many quiet moments. Hogan stood respectfully to one side. Then Stark leaned forward, put his hand into the wreckage, and started feeling around.

"Mr. Stark, are you sure you want to do that? You heard what he said about blood."

"It's the same blood that runs through my veins, Harold. I'm not concerned about the blood."

Hogan was silent a few minutes more. Then: "Do you mind me asking what you're doing sir?"

"Well, Harold, if I know my father," Stark seemed to have found something with his hand – he pulled and a piece came off. "And I do - he wouldn't have gone anywhere without . . . ." Stark removed his hand from the vehicle and held up something tiny. "This."

Hogan stared at what looked like a USB drive. "What's that?"

"A recorder. Dad was obsessive about keeping one of these on or around him at all times. It helped make sure people didn't have conversations with him they denied later. He could also use it to capture an idea whenever it came to him."

Stark turned and looked at Hogan. "When I didn't find one with his effects at the morgue, I figured he must have hidden it somewhere in their rental car."

"Sir, obviously it's your decision . . . but are you sure you really want to listen to your parents' final moments?"

"No, I'm sure I _don't_ want to listen to my parents' final moments," Stark said, and he started walking back to the limo. "But I need to know something."

When they reached the cars, Stark thanked the deputy and said goodbye, then climbed into the back of the limo again. Once the door was closed and it was quiet, he pressed a tiny button on the side of the recording device. Sound began to play.

The recording began with what sounded like the Starks walking through the Gunnison airport, so Tony forwarded it a bit. Soon, he found what he was searching for.

"How do you think he'll do?" he heard his mother's voice say.

"He'll be fine. He just needs to be made to do it. Ergo . . . this trip," he heard his father say. And despite the pain these ghostly voices brought him, he had to smile.

_Dad believed in me_.

He heard his mother start to say something, then came the tremendous roar of the crash, and he could make out nothing but noise and static for several seconds. Then it quieted. There was no sound from either Howard or Maria Stark after that, and Tony found some small comfort there. They probably died instantly.

The hiss of the ruptured radiator could be heard faintly over the recorder. But then came the sound of something else, very soft, but distinct. It was the sound of footfalls on the pavement outside the car.

Then Tony heard a sound that chilled his blood: a human voice. The recorder picked it up loud and clear through the car's smashed out windows.

"Make sure they're dead," said the voice. There was a pause. Then another voice said, "Yeah, they're dead." "Okay. Let's get out of here," said the first voice. Then came the sound of an engine revving, backing up, and moving away.

There was no sound but the continuing hiss of the radiator after that. But Tony Stark sat in the back of his limousine, staring at nothing, for many, many minutes, and the recorder continued spilling out its silence into a future that Tony Stark had never, ever foreseen.


	20. Chapter 20

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 20**

**Previous relevant chapter: 17**

**The home of Janet van Dyne, White Plains, New York**

Janet van Dyne said goodbye to the last of the neighbors, friends, extended family and police investigators who had been milling in and out of the house for the last 42 hours. Neighbors had brought enough food to ensure she wouldn't have to worry about meals for a week, and she had ensured them she would be fine staying there by herself. Still, the police had agreed to leave an officer in a cruiser stationed out front for the next few nights, in case whoever committed the crime had thoughts of coming back.

The investigation had turned up nothing so far. No clues left behind by the killer – or killers – and no idea what they might have been looking for. But as soon as Janet had seen the last visitor to the door, and checked to make sure that the officer on duty looked content to stay in his car, she headed straight for the dining room and pulled open the cabinet where her father kept wine and liquor. She searched inside for a moment, then found what she was looking for and pulled it out – a bottle of Bodegas Hidalgo Jerez-Xeres Sherry. It had been opened, and it looked like a serving or two had been poured. She took it into the kitchen where the light was better and examined it. As far as she could tell, there was nothing special about the outside. She held the bottle up to the light, but she could see nothing through the dark glass.

She brought out a bowl, set it on the counter and started pouring. When about two-thirds of the bottle had drained, she saw and heard something hard clink out of the bottle and plop into the bowl. She immediately stopped pouring, fished her hand into the liquid, and pulled out her prize. It was a key.

She felt a brief moment of joy at this. But then just as quickly, an overwhelming sense of sorrow, and she rested her elbows on the counter. "Oh Daddy," she said aloud.

After a time, she wiped her eyes and rinsed off the key. She knew she had to find what it opened. She started in her father's room, trying the key in every piece of furniture that featured a lock – though none of them _were_ locked. She then started searching behind every picture, under the bed, anywhere a safe or strongbox might be hidden. Nothing.

She then headed back to the basement study, thinking there might be a hidden cabinet or safe in the wall there. But after several minutes of searching, nothing again. She was just beginning to dread the task of having to turn the house upside down, when a thought hit her. In her own bedroom upstairs, buried deep in the closet, wedged into a back corner so tight it barely fit, was an old armoire that her parents had stuck there to store Janet's old "little girl" clothes and memorabilia. She estimated that nobody had opened that cabinet in years. But she looked at the key, thought it would be worth a try, and headed to her bedroom.

She opened her closet and walked to the back. She had to push aside a rackload of hanging clothes to get to the armoire. It was dusty and smelled of mothballs. But as Janet looked it up and down to see whether any of its drawers or cabinets had a keyhole, she noticed that the bottom drawer, a large one, _did_ offer a lock, and that the dust there looked like it had recently been disturbed. Her anxiety growing, Janet got down on her hands and knees, put the key in the lock, and turned. The drawer opened.

Inside were several file folders stuffed with papers, a couple of DVDs, and a USB drive. She hauled the whole load out into the light of her bedroom and dumped them on her bed. She opened the top folder.

There, on a rudimentary cover page, in 12-point type, she found these words: "Human Radioactivity Resistance. TOP SECRET."

"So you were working on something else," she said aloud to the empty room. She began to rifle through the pages of notes and calculations in the rest of the folder, and the more she read, the more she understood.

_But why hide it from me?_

For the next several hours, Janet pored over the files. They documented that her father had been expanding on the radiation experiments the two of them were conducting together, piecing together an understanding of how the human body and its various types of cells could be given temporary immunity to the lethal effects of nuclear radiation. Janet grasped immediately that the implications of such research were vast.

Any military that possessed the ability to give its soldiers temporary immunity to radiation would have an enormous battlefield advantage. Such immunity would neutralize a major effect of an opponent's tactical nuclear weapons; moreover, an army that possessed this advantage could freely deploy tactical nukes, eradicating the enemy's soldiers while leavings its own troops unharmed. Janet understood why her father feared for this research.

"This was what they were looking for," Janet said aloud. "But who?"

Janet could think of a dozen international entities, at least, that wouldn't want the United States to have this kind of military advantage: China, Russia, and a host of rogue states and terrorist groups. But knowing this still didn't help her answer her question: _Who_ _murdered my father?_

Janet began combing through the documents again, hoping to find a clue as to whether her father might have suspected any foes. She found none. But as she was going through them the second time, she noticed something she hadn't before: on a small snippet of paper taped to the back of one document, were two names with telephone numbers. The names meant nothing to her – yet – but she now knew where she would begin her own investigation into her father's death. One of the names was a Gen. Samuel Sawyer, though it didn't specify which branch of the military. The area code of his phone number was for Maryland.

The other name had a local area code. It was a Dr. Henry Pym.


	21. Chapter 21

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 21**

**Previous relevant chapters: 14, 16, 19**

**Stark Industries Global Headquarters, Queens, New York**

Tony Stark blasted into the office of his Executive Assistant, Virginia "Pepper" Potts, at the speed of a power walker, on his way to his own private office behind hers.

"Hold my calls, Pepper," he said.

Pepper stared at him incredulously as he zipped past.

"Excuse me, Tony, but the Board of Directors has been trying to reach you all day. And the press is asking for a statement, and the stock analysts are screaming for a conference call."

"Tell 'em to leave a message," Stark said as he reached the door to his office.

"You can't - Tony –" The door to Stark's office slammed shut. Pepper stormed over and flung it open.

"Tony, you can't tell the Chairman of the Board to leave a message. Nor the _New York Times_ for that matter. You're the CEO of the company now. People expect you to—"

"Excuse me, Pepper. I said hold my calls, and that's what I meant. And while I'm at it, no visitors either. In fact, I want no interruptions whatsoever. Which raises one immediate question: why are _you_ in here?"

"I'm in here because you pay me to make sure you stay organized. Which, by the way, is a considerably more complicated job now than it was when I took it on, so I think we're going to have to talk about a raise. And as part of keeping you organized-"

"Pepper! My parents just died! And you're in here talking to me about a raise!"

Pepper stopped short at this, and stared at Stark a long time without speaking. Then she walked over and put a hand on his shoulder.

"No, Tony. . . ." she began slowly. "I'm in here because I care about _you_."

Stark looked Pepper in the eyes, and the anger in his face melted away. Finally he looked down and nodded. "Thank you." Pepper hugged him. When she released her embrace, Stark looked at her again.

"Pepper, I went out to Colorado to find the truth about something. And I did." He hesitated before continuing.

"My parents . . . were murdered."

"What?" Pepper gasped. Tony nodded.

"And right now, Pepper, I just need to find out who did it, and I need to figure out what I'm going to do about it. To do that, I need to . . ." Stark hesitated. "I need to build something. As crazy as that may sound. Something that I can use to find them. Something that will help protect me in the event whoever killed my parents tries to do the same to me. So I'm asking you, if you really do care for me . . ." he took her hands in his. "I'm asking you to cover for me. Just for a few days. I know it's a lot to ask. But I have to do this. For me. For my parents."

Pepper Potts looked into Tony Stark's eyes for a long time before she responded. In all the years she'd worked for him, she'd never seen him like this – so serious, so determined. But so frightened, too. She fought back the urge to hug him again.

"Alright," she said at last. "I'll hold off the wolves as long as I can."

"Thank you," Stark said. And he brought her hands up to his mouth and kissed them. Pepper smiled. Then she stepped out of Stark's office and was about to close the doors when Stark called to her once again.

"Oh, and Pepper?"

"Yes?"

"Just so you'll know, I've ordered some extra security for you."

"For me?" Pepper said. "Why?"

"Anyone willing to murder my parents is probably willing to try coming after me," Stark said. "And if they're willing to come after me, they may be willing to try coming after those arou – " Stark hesitated a moment. "Those _I_ care about."

Pepper's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. But she smiled.

"Alright," she said. Then she pulled the doors closed behind her.

Alone now in his office, Stark stood in silence for a few seconds. Then he turned and with a spoken command brought up a life-sized electronic display in his office. The schematic of the repulsor-powered suit of armor glowed in detail on it. He stared at it a few moments. Then he picked up the phone and punched a button. "Tim? Tony. What have you got in the fabrication cue tonight? Well postpone it. I'm gonna need you to go to work building something else."


	22. Chapter 22

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 22**

**Previous relevant chapters: 9, 15, 18**

**The home of Henry Pym, Larchmont, New York**

Henry Pym staggered through the front door of his home. He was drunk. He'd downed huge quantities of alcohol on the flight home, trying to drown his sorrow over the death of his wife. But he was drunk also with grief. He'd been unable to get anyone to listen to his claim that Maria had been assassinated by the Serbian secret police. And once Jennifer Lundy's report had been filed, the U.S. Embassy's response was cemented: Maria Trovaya was officially a missing person. She couldn't even be presumed dead for another 30 days. Her case was treated as a tragic but random incident, which made it a matter for local police.

Against Jennifer Lundy's advice, Pym had gone to the Belgrade police, but though they expressed sympathy, they wouldn't give his case special treatment. He even tried going to Serbian national officials. But as soon as he had blurted out his claim that the secret police had murdered his wife, they would have nothing more to do with him.

Pym even tried going back to the site of the crime and launching his own personal investigation. But of course this was fruitless. It had rained later on the night of the attack, and anyway, the assassins were professional in removing clues.

Without even Maria's body for a funeral, Pym had at last done the only thing left to him: he'd flown home.

And now he hated himself for it.

_I failed Maria in every way possible._

Pym stood swaying in the foyer for a few moments. Then he let out a loud cry and threw his suitcase across the adjacent living room.

"I shouldn't have come home!" he yelled aloud to an empty house. "I should have stayed and fought them! I should have stayed and fought _for her_!"

Pym dropped to his knees and began to sob uncontrollably. "Maria! I failed you!"

_I failed her by letting her go back in the first place. I failed her by letting her talk me into walking to her family's apartment. I failed to defend her from her attackers. I failed by not convincing the authorities that she was the victim of a political assassination. And I failed her by coming home. I failed her in every way possible. Failure. Failure! FAILURE!_

Pym pressed his head with his hands. "MARIA! MARIA!" he cried, over and over and over.

He could see her in his memory, standing very near the spot where he was now collapsed. She was talking to him, telling him the last thing she ever said before the fateful phone call that changed their lives. "I think you should go down there right now and prove all your naysayers wrong," she was saying. "Try something bold. Try something you've never tried before."

"But I _did _try something bold," Pym cried aloud again. "And I failed. Just like I failed _you_ Maria! I always fail! I'm nothing _but_ a failure!"

He broke down in uncontrollable sobs again, and kept on sobbing for a long time. He cried so hard it felt like his mind was coming apart – like some part of himself was splitting down the middle. He felt the other part of himself, a man he didn't know, begin to form out of the ether next to his body. The man looked down on him - sobbing like a baby, helpless on the floor - and sneered in contempt. Pym could see himself through the man's eyes, and could look up at the man through his own, at the same time. He felt his consciousness shift back and forth between the two, and he became exceptionally aware of his body in time and space, and yet strangely unable to feel the floor at the same time. His head swam heavily. When he tried to clear it, he vomited.

"Dear God!" he cried, strands of spittle and bile stringing from his mouth to the carpet. "Dear God, Maria. MARIA!"

The image in his memory of Maria standing in that spot began to merge with the man next to him, and they looked down on him in joint contempt. There wasn't enough contempt in the whole world for them to heap on him, and they sneered and despised him. He was a failure – an ant of a man. Pym looked up at them, weeping.

"I'll try harder," he whimpered. "I'll try something _bolder_."

The man and Maria laughed at him scornfully.

"No!" Pym cried. "I _will_ try something bolder. You'll see. I'll make you proud of me, Maria! I'll become the man you wanted me to be!"

Their mouths began to move, but Pym couldn't hear the words. His field of vision was narrowing, a tunnel carved out of blue void. Maria's and the man's contempt was so wrenching it made Pym's stomach heave again. As he pulled himself up from the pain, he suddenly felt a new sense of resolve.

"I can fix this!" he slurred, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I can make her proud of me again. And I know how."

He looked up at Maria and the man, who were now almost out of sight at the end of the tunnel of his vision. "I can fix it!" he cried to them. "I can be bold again!"

Pym laughed, a mad laugh. _Of course! He should have seen it before! This can be fixed! He just had to be bolder!_

"Bolder!" he yelled as he staggered to his feet. "BOLDER! I'll fix it, and I'll show them! BOLDER!"

Then he lurched toward the doorway to his basement laboratory.


	23. Chapter 23

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 23**

**Previous relevant chapter: 20**

**The home of Janet van Dyne, White Plains, New York**

Janet dialed the number in Maryland. She had no idea what it was for. She'd tried a reverse lookup on the internet, but not surprisingly, it returned nothing. A lady answered on the other end.

"Security."

_Security?_

"Yes, I'm calling for General Sawyer please."

"General Sawyer?"

"Yes."

"Uh, there's no one here by that name."

Janet wasn't necessarily surprised by this either.

"Are you sure? My name is Janet van Dyne, and I think my father may have been collaborating with General Sawyer on some research."

There was a brief pause on the other end.

"Hold a moment please."

There was silence for several minutes. When someone came on the line again, it was a man's voice.

"This is Lieutenant Nelson, can I help you?"

"Yes. My name is Janet van Dyne, and I'm trying to reach General Sawyer."

"General Sawyer hasn't worked out of this office in two years, ma'am."

"Well can you tell me where he's gone?"

"No ma'am."

"Why not?"

"That's classified."

"Oh please. Look, I think my father was collaborating with General Sawyer on some research. So he might be interested to know that my father was killed a few nights ago. And I think it was over the work he was doing."

"I'm very sorry to hear that ma'am. But I don't see what that has to do with us. We don't do any kind of research here."

"Where's 'here'?"

"The army."

"Yes, but what unit or division or whatever is this?"

"This is just a storage depot."

"That answers the phone 'security'?"

"We're in the security office."

"You're telling me General Sawyer once worked in the security office of a storage depot?"

There was a brief hesitation on the other end.

"Actually, I'm not sure what he did around here," the man said.

"Okay, look. My father was kind of a big deal scientist. And he wouldn't have had General Sawyer's name and number written down in his files unless there was a reason. So can you please just stop with the runaround and give me a number where I can reach him?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have a number for him."

Janet sighed. She was getting exasperated.

"Listen, Lieutenant Nelson – if that really is your name – I have reason to believe that my father was involved in some secret research on behalf of the U.S. military, and that someone targeted him for assassination because of it. Now I don't want to cause trouble for you or the government or anyone else. But I'm not going to just lay down on this. I'm trying to find out who killed my father, and this is one of only two numbers I have to go on. So please, if you have any humanity at all, can you please just try to find a number for General Sawyer, or send him a message, or something?"

"Ma'am, I'm sorry about your father. But I don't have any information whatsoever about General Sawyer or any research project. I have no idea why your father would have had this number, but this is just the security office of an army storage depot. You said you had two numbers. What was the second one?"

Janet thought a second.

"You know what," she said eventually. "I don't think I'm comfortable giving you that information right now. I think that's classified."

"Suit yourself ma'am," the lieutenant said. "I'm just trying to help."

"So you're telling me that neither you nor anyone else there has ever heard of Dr. Vernon van Dyne?"

"No ma'am."

"So if I had the files on this research project, you'd be okay with me going to the press with them?"

There was another moment's hesitation on the other end. "Ma'am, I guess you can do whatever you like with your research project. I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

Janet was silent for several moments.

"Okay. Sorry to have bothered you."

"It's quite alright ma'am. I wish you the best."

"Goodbye."

Janet sat by the phone for a long time, thinking. She could tell they were giving her the runaround. But with only a phone number - no address, no identifying information, no nothing - there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She turned her attention to the other number. "Dr. Henry Pym," she said aloud. She typed his name and number into a search engine, and to her surprise, his address came right up – a house in Larchmont, not far away. She thought a second more.

"Screw this," she said. "I'm not getting the runaround again." She grabbed her father's files, her keys and her cell phone – but her battery was dead. Not wanting to waste any more time, she grabbed her father's cell phone instead, and headed out the door.


	24. Chapter 24

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 24**

**Previous relevant chapter: 22**

**The basement laboratory of Henry Pym, Larchmont, New York**

Henry Pym sat in front of a laptop - groggy-eyed, hands shaking, two-day-old trans-Atlantic flight sweat moldering in his armpits and under his chin. Thin red lines outlined his eyes, and his face was stubbled with two days' growth. He'd been working all night. A tall mug of coffee sat just off his left hand, and he swigged at it incessantly. He was tapping keys and trying to study a string of data that cascaded down the screen. After he'd tapped a few more times, he reached up and pushed the record button on the lab's audiovisual system. His voice was hoarse and slurred.

"The ratio of magnetism to particle count affects the performance of the Particles," he called into the air for the recorders. "Judging by the data from the first test, it looks like we don't need nearly as much magnetism." He kept typing keys. "This thing was close to working."

He glanced toward another display, and his eye swept past a picture of Maria on his desk. He paused and stared at it, and tears welled up again. A deep ache formed in the pit of his stomach. "Maria," he mumbled, and put a hand on the photo.

Just then, his laptop beeped. He looked over. The program he'd been running had just returned an updated result for the optimum magnetic field. He stared at it. Then he looked back at the picture of Maria. His eyes were red and itchy and tear-filled. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'll try it again," he said. He rose to his feet but had to steady himself on the edge of the console. Then he walked over to the device on the far side of the lab and began disconnecting and pulling off large units.

It took several hours, but by the time he was finished, the device was a quarter its original phone booth size. He stepped back, swayed on unsteady legs and rubbed his eyes. Then he walked back to the other side of his desk, reached into a cabinet, and pulled out a pill bottle-sized glass container holding one Acorn Ant. He walked over to the device, deposited the ant there, and returned to his seat.

"Pym Particles, test two in vivo," he called into the recording system. "First test was a . . . a failure." Pym looked again at the photo of Maria. "Data on magnetic field reduction has been fed into the system. Magnetic field for test 2 . . ." he paused and rubbed his eyes again, "is gonna be a lot less."

Pym checked several monitors in front of him.

"Initiating magnetic field . . . now."

The low hum emitted by the device filled the room, but quieter this time.

"And releasing particle suspension gas . . . now."

A thin hiss rose over the hum again.

"And we have contact with test subject . . . now."

As with the first test, Pym watched a monitor carrying a video feed from a camera mounted directly in front of the ant. Once again, nothing happened for several seconds. Then the ant began to grow. Incredibly fast. It seemed to double in size every second. It grew so big it filled the camera. Pym looked up and across the room, and he could observe the experiment directly. Same as before, he could see the ant growing visible in the dish, even from that distance.

"Test subject has reached 750 percent of original size. This is where we lost it last time!"

But the ant kept growing. "800 percent!" Pym called . "900!" The ant was the size of a large beetle now, and still growing. "One thousand percent growth!" He glanced at the monitor again. "No adverse effects yet as far as I can tell."

The ant kept growing. It grew to the size of a mouse, and kept growing. It grew to the size of a gerbil, and kept growing. Pym stopped calling out percentages and just stared in amazement. It was now the size of a squirrel, and still growing.

"Oh my God," Pym whispered. "It works."

It wasn't until the ant had reached the size of a house cat that something occurred to Pym's befuddled brain: what do you do with cat-sized ant? It occurred to him that he should probably shut down the machine and consolidate his gains. But just as quickly, he heard another voice inside his head: "Bold!" was all it said. Pym's hand hovered over the kill switch, but he made no move. The ant was still growing. It was now the size of a medium sized dog.

Suddenly it began to convulse. It writhed back on itself like it was in pain, then suddenly the whole organism grew explosively fast. The ant was frantically scrambling now, it's legs kicking and flailing, and it shot up to the size of a Great Dane. Even through Pym's fogged mind, fear gripped him, and he finally hit the kill switch. But it was too late.

The ant came lurching out of the device, its mandibles clacking madly, legs uncoordinated, scrambling in fits. "Something seems to have gone wrong with the ant's nervous system!" Pym called to the AV system. But the ant heard him. It turned its head in his direction, its whole body spasming and convulsing, and raced toward him at unbelievable speed. It collapsed after a few steps, but then jumped back up and kept coming. It was incredibly fast! In just two spastic bursts, it had nearly reached him. Pym yelled, turned and ran.

But the ant sensed this too, picking up the vibrations of his footfalls. It clambered easily over his desk, knocking computer monitors to the floor with a crash of shattered glass. Pym couldn't believe how fast it came! He felt its front legs brush against the back of his pants, and he raced forward in a burst of terror. Still the monster came on. Pym ran to the far wall of the lab, but there was nowhere in the confined lab to flee the raging insect, and by the time he could turn his back to the wall, the ant was lunging toward him again.

He ducked and rolled to his left, and the ant's snapping mandibles grazed just over his head. Then he was up and running in horror to the other wall. The ant turned and followed, gaining ground, then falling in a spasm, then up again and gaining on him. Again he was pinned to a wall, and again he rolled away low. But he was already starting to lose steam. The sleepless night and hangover were dulling his muscles. He felt his breath coming in frightened gasps.

He raced across the lab again, the ant lurched toward him again. But this time when he tried to roll under, the ant's mandible gashed him across the forehead, knocked his head back, and sent him reeling. He fell to the floor, and the ant was on him.

In desperation, Pym put his arms out and blocked the ant by the head, its mandibles clicking only inches from his face. He screamed in terror, and the ant lunged forward all the more. He could feel it pressing against his outstretched arms. It was unbelievably strong! And he could feel himself tiring. He knew he wouldn't hold out much longer. Another clack of the mandibles nipped his nose, and he screamed again despite himself.

Just then, the ant writhed backward again, as it had at first, and emitted a grotesque squeaking noise. It began to stamp all six legs furiously, writhing and bucking. Then Pym saw its head suddenly swell horribly large, there was a burst of exoskeleton, and a rush of ant innards gushing down on him. The rest of the ant's body collapsed on top of him with another convulsion. Pym rolled the beast off of him and recoiled in horror. He wildly tried to wipe the disgusting slime off his face and upper torso. He sat up and started crying again as he kept wiping his body in revulsed sweeps.

Finally, still coated in slime and with the ant's carcass at his feet, he began to moan. "Dear God," he moaned. "I'm _still_ a failure." He looked around at his destroyed lab. "I failed again. Dear God, what have I done? I'm a failure. Failure. Failure! FAILURE!"

Then, in what seemed to his ravaged mind the most implausible of timing, the doorbell rang.


	25. Chapter 25

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 25**

**Previous relevant chapter: 21**

**Stark Industries Global Headquarters, Queens, New York**

Tony Stark stood in his private lab, adjacent to his office, wearing what looked like a breastplate from the middle ages. Only it was made of an alloy of metals so complex no medieval blacksmith could have comprehended it - it had taken Stark's fastest computer three days to work out the components and proportions. It had a round hole in the center of the chest where Stark envisioned mounting a weapon.

But for now, he was fiddling with a complicated thruster assembly small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. The thruster was already embedded into an armored glove. But it was connected to a ceiling-high bank of batteries.

Stark had developed a reputation as the greatest miniaturizer of weapons, power sources and other technology in the world, but even he was having trouble with this one. He (too) had cameras recording his every move and word as he worked, and he spoke into the void for their documentation.

"I don't know how I'm going to get a power source portable enough for this thing," he said. "Might have to miniaturize the arc reactor." He looked down at the hole in the breastplate. "But that would mean mounting it here, instead of putting weaponry here." He looked at some specs on a table.

"Oh well. The miniaturized repulsor appears to work well."

He pointed the armored glove toward a target on the far side of the room and pressed a lever embedded in a recess in the glove. A high-pitched power-up sound, as if someone had packed an entire jet engine into a soup can, rose in the room. Then a pulse of energy blasted from the thruster in the glove. The recoil was modest; Stark easily held the glove in place. But on the other side of the room, the target exploded.

He looked with satisfaction at the shards of the destroyed target, some of them embedded in the ceiling, some in walls. Just then, his phone beeped. Stark answered merely by speaking into the air.

"Tony Stark."

"Tony, it's Tim. I think I've got this joint done, but Good Lord, do you know how many pieces there are to it?"

"Uh, should be about two hundred and eighteen if I designed it right," Stark said.

"I guess I should have known better than to ask _you_ a question like that. Want me to send it to your private lab like the others?"

"Yeah, send it on up Tim."

"You mind if I ask what you're building up there?"

"That's top secret," Stark answered.

"You know, just based on the parts I've already built, I can make a pretty good guess."

"Then that would make _you_ top secret, my boy, so how about I throw an extra 50K onto your bonus this year, and you promise to keep it just between us."

The voice on the other end laughed. "Tony, you know I'd keep it secret anyway. But I'll take the 50K."

"Well you got it my friend. So you'll bring the joint up?"

"Yeah, on my way."

"Good. I'll try to be dressed. Bye."

At the voice prompt "bye," the intercom switched off. Stark was just about to put the glove down and turn to an elbow assembly lying on the table next to him, when it happened.

He never did remember hearing the explosion. All he remembered was that the room seemed to ripple and warp briefly, like the whole thing were liquefying and turning on its end, and then he was suddenly flying through the air - still standing in the same position, only flying across the room – then a concussion like a wall of compressed air hit his eardrums, and he was slammed to the floor.

After that, his body wouldn't seem to work right. Still, though his head throbbed with pain, he managed to look up, and he saw that most of the exterior wall of his lab had been blown out.

Then he saw what was coming through it.


	26. Chapter 26

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 26**

**Stark Industries Global Headquarters, Queens, New York**

_Someone gave darkness a shape!_

Tony Stark's shellshocked mind struggled to comprehend what his eyes were seeing. It had been only a second since the explosion that blew out the exterior wall of his private lab, and his senses weren't working right. He could hear only ringing in his ears – all other sound was muted. His mouth wouldn't form words. But he could smell: he was keenly aware of the tang of scalded metal and concrete dust burning in his nostrils.

But it was his eyes that confused him most. What he was seeing shouldn't be possible.

It was a perfect cone of darkness.

It looked like what should have been a cloud of thick, utterly black smoke. But it came not in billows, but with neat boundaries – a perfect geometric shape of blackness. It emanated from the center of the space where his wall used to be, hiding entirely whatever was producing it. Even in his addled state, he was amazed.

_Who has this kind of technology?_

In just the seconds since the explosion, it had already expanded nearly to fill the room. As it did, it sucked out all light. Stark's already stunned senses were losing all equilibrium now. He could see nothing straight ahead. Only out of the corner of his eyes, not looking directly, could he snag snippets of light coming from corners of the lab where the cone hadn't penetrated. It was as if the darkness was sucking the very light from his eyes – absolute, impenetrable, palpable. He'd never experienced anything like it.

He was just about to try getting back to his feet to meet this threat –whatever it was - when he felt an incredible, sickening jolt to his chest. The force of it threw him in the air again – all the way against the wall of the lab. His upper torso felt like it was being melted by hot lava. Like he'd been hit by a cannonball and had his heart liquefied in the same instant.

He tried to scream but couldn't – the burning was climbing up his windpipe now, scorching all before it. It raced like wildfire out his arms, down his abdomen – rivulets of liquid hell running through his body.

He brought his hand to his chest reflexively, and only then did he realize he was still wearing both the breastplate and the armored glove with the repulsor in it. He didn't know if the cables to power the repulsor had survived the blasts, but he didn't have time to wait. This was his only chance.

He raised his hand and depressed the lever to power up the repulsor. Then he aimed for the center of where he thought the darkness had come from, and released.

Even within the utterdark field he could see an enormous charge of energy shoot from the end of his hand. He heard an explosive crash, like a meteorite hitting an airplane, then what sounded like a wounded aircraft lurching away.

Then he lost consciousness, and his mind gave way to the blackness engulfing him.


	27. Chapter 27

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 27**

**Previous relevant chapters: 23, 24**

**The home of Henry Pym, Larchmont, New York**

Janet van Dyne stood on the front doorstep of the address she had for Dr. Henry Pym and rang the doorbell again. She could have sworn she heard someone – a man - screaming as she walked up the front steps. But it was muffled, like it came from far away or under ground. And anyway, who would be screaming like that in a beautiful neighborhood like this? She wondered if she had the right address.

She looked back at the piece of paper in her hand and checked it against the number on the mailbox at the street. It was right. She rang again. This time the door opened.

Janet immediately began backpedaling in fright.

The man who pulled the door open leaned against the doorframe as if he could hardly stand. He could have been handsome – six feet tall, blonde hair, well built. But he looked like he'd been on a two-day bender. Worse, he had some kind of ooze dripping off his hair and shirt. Janet feared some drug addict or homeless person had taken up residence in a vacant house, and she might have to make a quick escape. She was halfway back to her car when the man finally spoke.

"What do you want?" he said, his voice a raspy slur.

"I'm sorry. I was looking for a Dr. Henry Pym," Janet said, still backing up.

The man slumped down in the doorway. "Well you found him."

Janet stopped backpedaling. "You're Dr. Pym?"

"Yeah." He looked at his arms, coated in slime. "Beautiful sight, ain't I?"

Janet feared he was lying. "Are . . . are you alright?"

Pym leaned his head back against the doorframe. "What do you want?" he said again.

Janet maintained a safe distance. "I'm hoping you knew my father, Dr. Vernon van Dyne."

Pym just nodded. "Why?"

"Because he's dead."

Pym raised his head and looked at Janet now. Something about this news seemed to reach him through his mental fog, and center him. He struggled to focus his eyes on her. "Dead? How?"

"He was murdered," Janet replied – still keeping her distance.

Pym leaned his head back against the doorframe. "I'm sorry."

"Dr. Pym, did you ever collaborate with my father on any research?"

Pym thought a moment, then nodded his head again.

"Could you tell me what it was?"

Pym again lifted his head and looked at her. "Cellular immunity," he said. "Resistance." Pym waved a hand dismissively. "It was . . . crazy stuff. Stupid." He lowered his head. "I'm a lousy scientist."

Janet still wasn't convinced this man was for real. "Resistance to what?" she pressed. "Can you tell me that?"

"Radiation wasn't it?"

Convinced now that no stranger could have guessed something so specific and unlikely as that, Janet tentatively started walking forward again. "Dr. Pym, are you sure you're alright?"

Pym again waved a hand in the air. "Sure? I'm not sure of anything anymore."

"Dr. Pym?" Janet began again. "I believe my father was murdered _because_ of his research." This focused Pym again. "In his files, he had two names and phone numbers written down. One of them was yours." She was almost back to his doorstep now. "Dr. Pym, could you tell me who would have wanted to kill him?"

She was nearly back to him now, and she noticed that while he had lowered his head again, he had started crying.

"Dr. Pym?"

He just continued to sit in the doorway, crying.

"Dr. Pym?"

Then Janet's intuition took over, and though she was still afraid, she had a growing feeling that this man was not a threat. She reached out a hand to touch him on the shoulder. When she did, he looked up, tears streaming down his face.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," he said. "Your father was a good man. My wife . . . ." He broke down in sobbing again. "My wife was a good woman. And she was murdered too."

Janet looked inside the open door to see what looked like a puddle of vomit on the foyer floor. Beyond that, she could see the contents of a suitcase strewn across the living room.

"Dr. Pym," she said, keeping her hand firmly on his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you back inside." Then Janet helped him to his feet, and let him lean on her as she shuffled him back in the house. She walked him over to the sofa, where he collapsed and fell asleep immediately.

She took advantage of the opportunity to look around – checking his wallet, looking at photos and certificates on the walls - and satisfy herself that this man was indeed Dr. Henry Pym. Then she went downstairs to the basement lab and saw the wreckage there.

She also saw a sight that unnerved her to the core - the headless carcass of an ant the size of a Great Dane.

"Oh my God!" she breathed, creeping forward to examine it as if fearful it might jump back to life. After staring at it in disbelief for several minutes, she eased around it and began picking through the scattered files. She was soon able to piece together an idea of what had happened here.

"Good Lord," she whispered again as she scrolled through a file she'd found open on a laptop she'd picked up off the floor. The more she read, the more an idea began to form itself in her mind. But moreover, a resolve began to harden in her mind as well.

"My father chose you with good reason," she said aloud to the empty room. "You were just like him. A kindred mind. A fringe genius."

_Quirky._

She stood there considering all of this a few minutes more. Then she nodded, her mind made up. This man was her last hope of finding out who killed her father. She intended to stick around and learn more.

Moreover, this man clearly needed help. And she intended to give it.


	28. Chapter 28

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 28**

**Previous relevant chapter: 26**

**On-Site Emergency Medical Facility, Stark Industries Global Headquarters, Queens, New York**

Tony Stark woke up with a woozy head and fuzzy vision. The bright lights of the emergency room glared down into his eyes.

"Mr. Stark, can you hear me?"

Stark looked toward the sound. The face of Stark Industries' Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Jose Santini, came into focus. Other medical staff, as well as various Stark security personnel, were standing or working on the periphery.

"Yes," Stark stammered, his voice weak. "What happened?"

"We're not sure yet. You were attacked. By what, we don't know. Can you move?"

Stark wiggled his hands and feet, then started flexing them gently.

"Yeah."

The doctor took a pin light out of his pocket and ran a quick vision test on Stark.

"Do you hurt anywhere?"

"Just my chest."

The doctor checked the instruments that were hooked up to him.

"Did you see what hit you?"

"No," Stark said. "There was this cone of blackness, then the shot to the chest. I never saw what it was, or what fired it. I was hoping you could tell me."

The doctor folded his arms.

"Well, that's the problem. I've never seen injuries like this. A portion of your heart and surrounding tissue were damaged, but in all honesty, I'd be at a loss to tell you exactly how. All the cellular activity is reduced. Your heart is beating slower, the arterial walls in the affected area are thinned, oxygenation is reduced. If I were to hazard a guess, it looks like you might have been hit with some kind of energy source. But what kind, I have no idea. This doesn't look like anything I've ever seen before."

Stark let his head drop back onto the pillow and stared into the lights.

"Great."

"Well, that breastplate you were wearing gave you some protection. All the damage was confined to the area where the hole was. If you hadn't been wearing it, your whole heart – your whole chest, for that matter – would have been damaged. My guess is it would have killed you."

Stark tried to absorb it all.

"Who did this?" he asked, to no one in particular.

"Mr. Stark, I hate to tell you, but there's more," said the doctor.

"It gets worse?"

"Well . . . ." the doctor hesitated. "If you'd like, we can save the rest for later."

"No, I want to know."

The doctor sighed.

"There's something _in_ your chest. But again, I have no idea what. They're small.

"How small are we talking about?" Stark asked.

"Maybe a millimeter across."

"How many are there?"

"Well again, Mr. Stark, it looks like the breastplate you were wearing protected you. They're concentrated in the area around your heart that was unprotected and-"

"How many?"

The doctor hesitated.

"Dozens, I'm afraid."

Stark's eyes went wide in shock. "Dozens?"

Dr. Santini nodded.

"Dozens of _things_, inside my chest?"

"Yes."

"Well get them out!"

"We . . . we tried that already."

"And?"

"It was while you were unconscious. One of them was embedded just under your skin, so we figured we would take it out to examine it – piece of cake."

"And?"

Dr. Santini hesitated again.

"And . . . it blew a hole the size of a quarter in the flesh covering your breastbone. Fortunately, the bone confined the damage to the dermis. But if it had been deeper, in the soft tissue . . . ." He didn't finish his sentence. "Let's just say these things don't want to be taken out."

Again Stark let his head fall back into the pillow.

"Dear God. They killed my parents, and they've got a good start on me."

Dr. Santini pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Well, I can offer you a couple of items of good news."

"I'll take anything at this point," Stark said.

"One, I'd say the damage to your heart is not immediately life threatening. You're still getting good blood flow, your vital signs are okay, you're awake and talking. Your heart is weakened. But thanks to that breastplate, it doesn't look like these injuries are immediately terminal."

Tony thought about this.

"Not great, but I'll take it. What's two?"

"Two is that the best cardiologist I know is right here in New York, and he's a friend of mine. I can get you in to see him immediately. If anyone can figure out what to do, it'll be him. I've already put in a call to him, and he's expecting you anytime."

"Thanks," Stark said. "What's his name?"

"Donald Blake."


	29. Chapter 29

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 29**

**Previous relevant chapters: 23, 27**

**The home of Henry Pym, Larchmont, New York**

Henry Pym woke up to the sounds and smells of bacon frying and coffee brewing. He breathed in deeply and sighed.

_Maria. I love that woman!_

He could hear the local morning news playing on the TV in the kitchen. He stretched. It was only then that he realized he had slept in his clothes. And they stunk! He turned his head and saw that he was sleeping on the sofa.

_What happened?_

Then his memory started pouring back in, and he recalled everything: Maria's death, the failed experiment. And just as quickly as hope and happiness had risen inside him at the prospect of breakfast with Maria, it sank at the gut-wrenching recollection that he would never have breakfast with Maria again. The air went out of him, and he laid his head back on the sofa and decided he didn't want to live today. He wasn't sure he wanted live _any_ more days, for that matter.

Lost in these morose thoughts, it took him several minutes to confront what should have been an obvious and immediate practical question:

_Who's in my kitchen making breakfast?_

He had a memory – or thought he did – of someone at his front door. A pretty, petite woman with inviting brown eyes. Did he just dream that?

Then the woman from his dream-memory came around the corner from the kitchen into the living room. Pym sat bolt upright.

"Who are you?"

The woman put down the mug of coffee she was holding and approached him. "You don't remember." It was more of a statement than a question.

"I remember your face. But I don't remember your name. What happened?"

The woman took a chair across from him.

"I'm Janet van Dyne, Vernon van Dyne's daughter. I came here yesterday looking for you because my father had your name in his files. You were looking pretty rough. So I got you inside and you passed out on the sofa. Then I decided . . ." she looked back at the kitchen . . . "to stick around and help."

Pym managed to swing his legs off the sofa and onto the floor, but his head still throbbed.

"That's very kind of you. But you shouldn't have. I'll be okay."

Janet got up and retrieved her coffee. "Really? You just gonna call the pest control company about that ant in the basement?"

Pym looked up. "You saw that?"

"That and the computer files on the experiment you were working on."

Pym grew alarmed. "You shouldn't have gone down there. That's proprietary-"

"And I realized," Janet interrupted, "that my father had your name in his files for a good reason. You're a lot like him."

Pym thought a minute.

"Vernon van Dyne. Yes, I remember that now." He looked up at Janet. "You said he was killed."

"Yes," Janet replied.

"I'm sorry."

Janet nodded.

"And your wife . . . ."

Pym just hung his head and stared at the floor.

Neither said anything for a long time. Finally Janet got up, walked over and put a hand on Pym's shoulder.

"Hey. I made some breakfast. Why don't you get cleaned up."

Pym stood, and his eyes made contact with hers. And he immediately felt something he knew he shouldn't so soon after his wife's death. He chastised himself inwardlyfor this. Then he turned and headed for the shower. And for a few minutes, the steam and warm water helped him forget the nightmare of his last three days.

* * *

Twenty minutes later Pym returned to his kitchen. He was clean and wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. Janet stopped short when she saw him. He _was_ handsome. His thick blonde hair was clean, but he hadn't shaved, and his 3-day old growth gave his sharp features a rugged attraction. The snug shirt and loose-fitting sweats hinted at the toned physique underneath.

He saw Janet looking at his clothes. "I decided I'd just get comfortable. I mean . . . ." He looked toward the foyer, where he'd undoubtedly noted that Janet had also cleaned up the mess he'd left there. "I figure you've already seen me at my worst."

Janet smiled and handed him a mug of coffee. And sixty seconds later, they were sitting down to breakfast, Pym in his own kitchen, both of them with a person they barely knew. It felt so oddly awkward yet comfortable at the same time, neither seemed to know what to say. Eventually, Pym broke the silence.

"I remember now you said something about your father was murdered because of his research?"

"That's what I believe, yes. Someone invaded our home, destroyed his study and killed him. That's why I came looking for you. I was hoping you could tell me who might have done it."

Pym shook his head.

"I don't know. I can think of a lot of people who'd want to. But he wasn't working on that alone, was he? I thought he was collaborating with the military. They should have been protecting him."

"They weren't," Janet said. "The other name he had in his files was a General Samuel Sawyer."

Pym shook his head. "I don't know that name."

"Dr. Pym, do you have any idea what department or laboratory in the military might have been working with him on something like that?"

Pym smiled.

"Please, it's Hank."

Janet found her eyes drawn to his smile. She hadn't seen it before. It looked good on him.

"Okay," she said. "Hank."

"And I'm sorry to say," Pym continued, "that I'm probably going to be no help to you there. I've tried to avoid the military, to be honest. They never seemed to think my work showed much promise. And military funding comes with military strings attached."

Janet thought a moment. "So what exactly _were_ you and Dad collaborating on?"

"It was early in the research – both his and mine. I was just starting to observe the Particles and their effects, and I sent some of my data for him to take a look at. There's so much about them we still don't know. He was wondering whether the Particles might provide the resistance to radiation he was looking for. We ran a couple of experiments together. But nothing came of it."

Pym paused.

"But I definitely will never forget him. He was one of the few people who ever saw my research that didn't think I was crazy. In fact, he encouraged me a lot. He's the one who turned me on to the effects of magnetism on the Particles."

"He never told me any of this," Janet said.

"Probably to protect you," Pym offered. "He probably feared that someday, somebody might come looking for research like that, and maybe it would be safer for you if you didn't know."

"Well, I'm not letting it die."

"What do you mean?"

"I intend to continue his research. I feel like it's the best way I can honor his memory."

Pym nodded. "That's a noble thing. You think there's enough left of your father's study to pick it back up?"

"Oh I don't intend to work on it there," Janet said.

"No?"

"No. I intend to work on it here."

Pym struck a look like he didn't know whether to laugh, get angry or get excited. He shifted in his chair.

"Well, uh, I'm very flattered that you would want to do that. But my own lab is not in the greatest shape right now. And besides, I've got _my_ research to do."

"Well that's what I meant. I'm going to pursue my father's research by helping you with yours."

Pym looked stumped. "But I already said, the Particles don't provide any resistance to radiation."

"But I think you have it wrong way around," Janet said. "It's not that the Particles offer radiation resistance. It's that my father's technology can offer _you_ resistance against the side effects of the Particles."

A light of recognition and curiosity glimmered in Pym's eyes.

"How?"

"Well, from looking at where Dad left off, he had established that melanin-coated nanoparticles injected into the body could protect tissue from the effects of radiation."

"Melanin? The skin pigment?"

"That and some other things. The same properties that protect your skin from harmful sun radiation, when harnessed and rendered uniform through nanomanipulation and configured with certain other compounds, can protect other body tissues from other types of radiation. Based on my preliminary analysis of _your_ research, it looks like it might provide protection against the side-effects of your Particles as well."

Now a look of amazement flashed in Pym's face, as if he immediately saw the possibilities. But just as quickly, a look of conflict shadowed him. He glanced down at his coffee.

"You know, I _am_ flattered that you think of my work that way. But . . ." he looked up and out the window where a brilliant day had dawned, "in the clear light of morning, I realize that my experiment yesterday was foolish. I need to do a lot more work before I try something rash like that again."

He looked back down at his coffee. "Besides, I have other more important business to attend to: like mourning my wife. Now is not the time to start a new collaboration."

Pym then launched into some discussion about the guilt he would feel at starting a new collaboration so soon after losing Maria. But Janet lost her focus. She'd noticed something about the local news broadcast playing on the TV, and she quickly tuned Pym out. A moment more and she jumped to her feet in alarm.

"Oh my God! That's my house!"

She turned up the volume.

" . . .that a military SWAT team raided a home in White Plains overnight. Now this is highly unusual, not only because it's a military team raiding a civilian home, but because this is the same house where a man was found murdered just a few days ago. Officials are not saying what they're looking for, only that there's no need for area residents to be alarmed. But as you can see, they have the house cordoned off, and they're not letting anyone – reporters included – in or out. From White Plains, I'm . . . ."

"Sawyer!" Janet cried.

"The General?"

"Son of a bitch! I _knew_ they were lying to me! I'll bet that was him I was talking to! And I told him I knew about the research, and he came looking for it!"

"Or for you," Pym said. "If your father was collaborating with them, they probably already have the data. I'm guessing they didn't know you had another copy. They probably came to get it - and you - out of circulation."

"But if they wanted it that bad, why didn't they just tell me and let me bring it in?"

"That would mean admitting the project exists," Pym said. "Like I said: military funding, military strings attached."

Janet put a hand to her head. She couldn't believe this!

"What am I supposed to do now?"

Pym thought a moment. "Well, you could still go to them. But judging from the secrecy . . . and _that_" – he nodded toward the TV set – "I'm not sure it would be a good idea."

Janet shook her head. "No. That jerk lied to me, then raided my house. I don't trust him."

Pym thought further. "Do you have all the files and the backup?"

"Yes. They're in the car."

"And there's nothing else in the house about the research?"

"No."

"Any information that would send them looking for you here?"

"No. Only that one piece of paper. Until I found those files, I'd never heard of you before." Janet paused. "No offense."

Pym smiled. "None taken. Well," he continued, thoughtfully. "I guess you can't go home then."

"No. I guess not."

"But if they're looking for you, they'll have tracked your cell phone."

Janet's eyes widened. She fished into her purse and pulled out a phone.

"Only I'm not carrying my cell phone," she said. "My battery was dead. So I took Dad's."

Pym raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Lucky break for you. But turn it off. It won't be long before they start looking for it too." Janet did.

Neither said anything more for several minutes. Janet was confused and scared. But she thought she knew where Pym was going with his line of thinking. She didn't know what to say next.

After a minute, Pym continued. "I guess you'll have to go off the grid for a while."

Janet nodded, still dazed. "I guess so."

"And . . . ." Pym hesitated. "I guess you'll be needing someplace to stay."

Janet nodded again.

Pym thought a minute more. Then he sighed. "Well, why don't you give me your keys, and I'll get your car pulled in. We'll want to get it out of sight." Janet started fumbling through her purse looking for them.

Pym nodded toward the back of the house. "And I guess you can use the spare bedroom."

Janet nodded awkwardly. Pym looked back at the TV, then at her again.

"Looks like we'll be working together after all."


	30. Chapter 30

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 30**

**Previous relevant chapter: 28**

**The offices of Dr. Donald Blake, New York**

Tony Stark lay on an exam table in Donald Blake's office, various equipment of a vaguely disturbing medical/industrial look bolted to the ceiling, the walls, the floor – all of it pointed at his chest.

Stark glanced around. "Doc, it looks like you're trying to finish the job the last guy did on me."

Blake smiled. "Don't worry, Mr. Stark. I've pointed these things at thousands of patients, and never killed a one. There's far more danger to your heart from the average cheeseburger than from these."

Stark nodded.

"But I will say this," Blake continued. "In all the years I've pointed them at people, I've never seen anything like this."

Stark grimaced. "For once, I wish I _didn't_ stand out in the crowd."

"It looks like whoever – or whatever – hit you wanted to make sure they did the job. So they hit you with a one-two punch. The first was this – I don't even know what to call it. A death ray?"

"Death ray?" Stark parroted sarcastically. "Doc, they told me you were the best in the city. And you're giving me a diagnosis of death ray?"

"Mr. Stark, I'm sorry, but I'm at not just at the limits of _my_ medical knowledge here. I'm at the limits of _all_ medical knowledge."

Stark stared at him for a minute, deciding. "Okay. Giving you the benefit of the doubt, define 'death ray.'"

"Well, it's almost as if – simultaneously – your ordinary biological processes were suspended, and then someone was able to pour a day's worth of exposure into your chest cavity in just a few seconds."

Stark stared at him blankly. "Not following."

"Okay. You or me, when we go out into the sun, into the heat, we don't start decaying. Why? Homeostasis - the ordinary response of a living organism to maintain physiological balance in the face of potentially threatening conditions. Cellular activity and restoration, water and oxygen exchange, blood flow, all of it. These processes preserve us, keep us alive. We may get sunburned, but our core body tissues don't start breaking down.

"But if one of us was to die, our body would start to decay. The cellular tissue would start to break down. That's what it looks like happened to you. It's as if this one small area of your chest died for a few seconds, and in those few seconds, this energy, whatever it was, poured in all kinds of damaging effects. Then this thing was withdrawn, and your tissue resumed from that point. Deteriorated, weakened, thinner – but still alive."

Stark considered this. "Sounds like 'disintegration ray' might be more accurate. But . . . death ray. I like it. Short. Easy to remember. You could name a drink after it."

"You take this news pretty well."

"Well, when you figure they killed my parents, and I've got – how long to live? Might as well enjoy the ride."

"Well that's the thing," Blake said. "It's not _this_ that's critical."

"Not critical? It's a death ray, but it's not critical?"

"Do you want to hear what _is_ critical?"

Stark looked up at the ceiling. "If it's worse than 'death ray' I'm not sure."

Blake reached over and switched off a machine. "It's up to you."

"No, keep going."

"My guess is some kind of 'smart shrapnel.' I don't have everything I would need here to confirm it exactly, but it looks to me like this was part two of the one-two punch. Whoever hit you with the death ray also hit you with these - I'm guessing as a failsafe. If the first weapon didn't kill you, these would."

"Smart shrapnel?"

"Think of it as buckshot, with each pellet individually programmed with an onboard microprocessor and a few rudimentary tools." Blake paused. "And a few micrograms of high-power explosive. But you knew that already."

"That blow up when you try to take them out," Stark said.

"Exactly."

Stark stared straight ahead, thinking. "Can we just leave them there?"

"In other circumstances, I might say yes."

"Why not _this_ circumstance?" Stark asked.

Blake looked Stark in the eye. "Because they're moving."


	31. Chapter 31

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 31**

**The offices of Dr. Donald Blake, New York**

"Toward my heart?" Tony Stark sat up on the exam table. Dr. Donald Blake had just told him that the shrapnel inside his chest was moving.

"Good God," Stark exclaimed. "And they explode if you try to remove them."

"I'm afraid so," Blake said.

Stark grabbed his shirt and started buttoning it, staring blankly at the floor in thought. Finally, he looked up at Blake again.

"Microbots."

"What?"

"I'm guessing they're microbots – very small robots. Probably programmed with a virtual map of the inside of the body."

Blake looked puzzled. "But I wouldn't have thought anyone could develop something like that to this level of sophistication."

"I'd have said the same thing about death rays," said Stark.

"Good point."

Blake paused, thinking. "Mr. Stark, I'm sorry, but I'm at a complete loss as to how to help you here." He paused again. "Tell you what. Let's go to my office. Maybe there's something in one of my files or journals to give us some direction."

Stark nodded absently and followed Blake out of the exam room, down the hall, and into Blake's office.

It was a surprisingly compact space, Stark observed, for a man as credentialed as Blake. Every available wall, shelf and surface space was covered in Nordic memorabilia. This was largely the reason it felt so snug – it was crammed full of Viking paraphernalia.

Blake was just about to open a file drawer to start searching for help when Stark spoke up. "I have an idea."

Blake looked back at him. "Which is what?"

"Magnetic suspension."

Blake considered this. "Hold these things stationary in a magnetic field?"

"Something like that."

Blake nodded. "I've heard of that being done to frogs and mice. But this would be a whole different ballgame. Bathe your torso in magnetism?"

"Yep."

"For how long?"

"For the rest of my life," Stark said. "Which hopefully is many, many years."

Blake frowned. "Even if it worked, what would you do, spend the rest of your life lying on a table between two magnets?"

"No," Stark answered. "I'd wear them."

Blake stared at him.

"On my chest." Stark tapped himself on the sternum.

Blake smirked. "You can't _wear_ a magnet powerful enough to keep those things stationary. It'd be like wearing an MRI machine."

Stark stared at him incredulously. "Excuse me? I'm the foremost developer of weapons-application technology on the planet. Granted, I was caught a little off-guard by the death ray thing –"

"And the microbots," Blake interjected.

Stark flinched. "Yes," he conceded. "And the microbots. But I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. I already have an application in development that I think would work just fine for this."

Blake nodded. "Okay. But . . . a magnet, worn over your heart? I'm not sure we know the long-term effects of something like that."

"Doc, I thought you were supposed to be rooting for me here, not shooting down all my ideas. What am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for the microbots to kill me? How long will that be?"

Blake leaned forward. "Well, that's the one piece of good news. You've got a little time if my estimates are right. My guess is it would take weeks if not months for these things to reach your heart. They move slow."

"Okay, I've got weeks if not months," Stark said. "So instead of throwing my hands up and conceding defeat to these bastards, I can at least _try_ to fight back, can't I? At least buy myself a little more time. Maybe time to think of a permanent solution."

Blake looked at Stark with admiration. "You know what? You're right. That's exactly what you should be doing. Forgive me. I guess I'm a little out of practice at attempting the impossible. But given your reputation, Mr. Stark, I'd say if anyone could find a permanent solution, it would be you."

"Please, it's Tony," Stark said. "Anyone who's looked inside my chest cavity should call me by my first name."

Blake laughed. "Alright, Tony. Well, since I've managed to be absolutely no help at all in offering you solutions, let me at least offer my services while you try _your_ idea. Testing, monitoring, treatment, whatever you need. If you're going to attempt the impossible, the least I can do is keep watch on your heart while you do."

Stark smiled. "You know doc, I think I'll take you up on that. If I'm gonna start bathing my heart in magnetism twenty-four seven, I wouldn't mind having one of the world's best cardiologists keeping an eye on it." He reached across the desk and shook hands with Blake. "Thanks."

"It's the least I can do."

Stark looked toward the door. "Well, I've got a lot of work to do."

"Of course." Blake rose to his feet.

"Buuut . . . ." Stark looked around at the Nordic-cluttered office again. "Before I go, there's something we need to talk about."

"Sure," Blake sat back down.

"Since I've opened my heart to you, doc - literally in my case - how about you share something with me."

Blake look confused. "What do you want to know?"

Stark gestured around the room at the Norse artifacts. "What's with all this stuff?"

Blake glanced around. "Oh, nothing. Just my pastime really."

"Pastime?" Stark said. "Doc, a pastime is a quantum physicist who still collects Superman comics. If there's one thing I pride myself on as a scientist it's my powers of observation. I've always said that a surprising number of my discoveries come about not because I'm smarter than everybody else, but because I'm just willing to see what's right in front of me, without bias, without preconceived notions."

Stark looked around again. "And I think I know obsession when I see it. I haven't seen this kind of fixation since CNN covered Sarah Palin. Now if I had to guess, I'd say one of three things is going on here. You either have a thing for men in armor, which, if true, is going to be a problem, for reasons you'll understand later. Or, two, you need to _seriously_ think about seeing a shrink. Or, three, there's more to Donald Blake than he wants to let on."

Stark leaned close. "So you want to tell me what it is?"

Blake sat a few minutes in silence, indecisive.

"Doc," Stark persisted. "If you're going to be hanging around my office helping me keep my heart beating, you're going to see things my own _mother_ didn't know I was working on."

Stark leaned back again. "Come on. I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours."

Blake studied Stark. He didn't really know the man except by reputation. But of course, the reputation was legendary. Stark was well-known as one of the most innovative thinkers in the world - as he himself had just stated, willing to see what the facts pointed to, no matter how unconventional the answer might be. Moreover, Blake had just watched Stark virtually dig himself out of his own grave, in only a matter of minutes, when confronted with a tragedy that would have undone most people. He felt a strange connectedness to the man, even though he'd only know him a few hours. A man like Stark justmight be the kind of person able to accept the truth.

Blake made up his mind. "Alright," he said. "I'll tell you, on two conditions."

"Anything," Stark said.

"You have to promise not to breathe a word of it to anyone else."

"Done," Stark shot back immediately. "What's the second?"

"You have to promise not to call me crazy."

Stark raised his eyebrows.

"At least not to my face," Blake added.

Stark considered it. "But I can whisper it behind your back, right?"

"Fair enough."

"Done," Stark said. "Start talking."

Blake leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands together.

"Alright. Here goes."


	32. Chapter 32

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 32**

**The offices of Dr. Donald Blake, New York**

"In Norse mythology, Odin is a kind of 'all-father' god," said Donald Blake. He was seated at his desk in his office, with Tony Stark across from him. "Maybe the closest thing they had to what Zeus was in Greek mythology."

"Yep, Odin, heard of him," Stark answered.

"As a result, we usually see him portrayed today as this kingly figure, seated on a throne or riding a horse into battle. But, especially early in the mythology, Odin was actually more often portrayed as a wanderer, drifting around checking on the affairs of humanity. His status as 'king of the gods' was something that evolved later. In fact, J.R.R. Tolkein's wizard, Gandalf, was based on this 'Odin as wanderer' motif."

"Hmm. Did not know that," Stark interjected.

"So, in early mythology, Odin is often depicted with a staff in his hand – which stands to reason for a wanderer. But over time, as the image of Odin evolved into the kingly figure, the staff disappeared from his depictions."

"Still waiting for the payoff," Stark said.

"Okay. This in turn gave rise to a new legend: that Odin had intentionally hidden his staff – the Staff of the Wanderer – somewhere on earth. That's why it disappeared from his depictions. The legends say that this staff is out there somewhere, buried or hidden. Waiting for the right person to find it. They say that one day, someone will come who is worthy to hold the staff of Odin. He will prove himself worthy by the upstanding way he lives his life, and the concern he's shown for others. And by searching for the staff, day and night, refusing to give up or be thwarted until he finds it. And when he does find it, the staff will be transformed."

"Uh huh," Stark said, clearly skeptical. "Transformed into what?"

"That's what I don't know," Blake said. "In all my research, that's always where I hit a dead end. Some of the legends say that the man who finds it will also be transformed, but, again, they don't say into what."

"OK . . . you're starting to scare me a little. Are you telling me you think this staff is really out there somewhere?"

Blake leaned forward and propped his elbows on his desk.

"I not only think it's out there, Tony. I think I'm the man destined to find it."

Stark blinked. Then blinked again. Then shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"And to think I let you point all that scary-looking equipment at my chest."

"Tony, you said—"

"Okay, you're right, I'm sorry. I promised not to say you were crazy."

"I shouldn't have told you."

"No. No," Stark said. "Let's go back over some facts. You're one of the most brilliant, accomplished cardiologists in the world. You've performed heart surgeries on – who knows, thousands? – of people. You're a sought-after speaker, you probably own enough pharmaceutical company stock to trade for a sizable interest in Stark Industries. So clearly you're not to be taken lightly."

Blake said nothing.

"So let's try again. You think this staff is really out there?"

Blake regained his enthusiasm. "Tony, I've found texts that no one else even knows exist. I'm operating with information even the most advanced scholars of Norse mythology don't have. I'm telling you, there is a surprising paper trail indicating that something real – something that the ancients referred to as the Staff of the Wanderer – is really out there, buried or hidden somewhere. Based on my research, it's in Norway."

"Okay, not mainstream archeology, I'll grant you, but that part scares me less. It's the part about you being destined to find it."

Blake leaned back again, folded his hands in front of his nose, and sighed.

"I don't know. Sometimes I don't understand it myself, so it's difficult to explain to someone else. But I feel – I believe – that I am somehow meant to find this thing. And I can't even explain why."

Blake paused and gathered his thoughts.

"Tony, all that stuff you said about me – the accomplished cardiologist, the medical pedigree – it's all true. And I'm very proud of it. But despite it all, I _know_ I still haven't found my true purpose in this world. My destiny." He glared hard into Stark's eyes. "Every man wants to believe he was put on this earth for some purpose. To cure cancer or build empires, to run for Olympic gold, or maybe it's to love a woman. What it is doesn't matter. But we're all wired this way. Aren't we?"

Stark glanced away thoughtfully, but nodded agreement.

"But I haven't found my purpose yet. And it eats at me every night and day. And as the years go by and my fascination with these legends grows, I'm convinced more and more that my destiny is to find that staff. To unlock whatever secrets it holds. It's like a part of me is missing, and that staff is going to provide it. I know how crazy that sounds. But that's the truth of it."

Stark listened, but without judgment now. He could see that – whatever else may be the case – Donald Blake meant what he was saying with all his heart. And more importantly, with all of what, in Stark's assessment, was still a sound and formidable mind.

"But so far I haven't found it," Blake said, shaking his head.

"So keep looking," Stark said.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I've been banned from Norway."

Stark burst out laughing. "Banned from Norway? How do you get banned from Norway? Wait . . . you didn't insult lutefisk did you?"

"No," Blake replied. "Many times it happens when I go over there on my expeditions that the Norwegian police end up looking for me. They'll get a tip that a strange, lame American is nosing around, asking about caves or mountain dells. They're afraid I'm going to steal their treasures, or hurt myself. Anyway, they warned me over and over to stop with these treasure hunts. But of course, I can't. So this last trip, they finally banned me. I can't go back now. I can't even buy a plane ticket. My name is in all the databases."

Blake shook his head again. "So while my destiny lies out there somewhere in the snow and ice, I'm still here, stuck in the middle of life, still hoping that someday I'll find the reason I was put on this earth."

He sighed heavily and looked down. "But I guess I never will."

Stark considered Blake for a second, then grinned a mischievous grin.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he said.

Blake looked up. "Why do you say that?"

"Excuse me. Did you forget I'm the biggest military contractor on the planet? I have security clearances for countries you've never heard of. I've got jamming codes for every radar on earth. But that's just window dressing in your case. The most important thing you need to know right now is this:" Stark leaned forward intently. "I have a plane."

Blake's eyes lit with fresh hope.

"So, Dr. Blake . . . do you want to get back into Norway?"


	33. Chapter 33

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 33**

**Previous relevant chapter: 29**

**The home of Henry Pym, Larchmont, New York**

Henry Pym worked busily at an array of equipment that looked like an amped-up home science kit, reconfiguring wiring, changing out canisters and removing parts. His Particle Device was getting smaller. From its original triple phone booth size, it was now more the size of a desktop rack of lab equipment.

"If this thing gets any smaller, you could carry it around in a backpack," he called to Janet van Dyne, who was across the lab punching numbers into a simulator program and studying the results.

She looked up. "Alright, I'm almost done with this simulation, and it looks like injecting the nanoparticles is not the way to go."

Pym looked at her. "No?"

"No. Disperse them in the suspension gas with your particles. They'll be absorbed more efficiently and can be introduced at the same time."

Pym got up, walked over and looked at Janet's computer screen from over her shoulder. "That's a great idea. I should have thought of that."

"You've thought of plenty already," she said. "You're a genius. These particles of yours are going to change the world."

When she said this, she turned toward him. Their faces were only inches apart, and Pym felt an immediate spark between them. He hesitated for a second, his eyes drawn to her lips. Then he cleared his throat and leaned back. He fumbled for what to say.

"Oh, I don't know about changing the world. I'd be content just to change my financial outlook."

Janet turned back to the computer screen. "So there's something I don't understand. When these ants have been growing, they've been acquiring mass too, right?"

Pym nodded, like he'd been expecting this question. "Yes."

"So . . . where do they get it?"

Pym walked back toward the particle device and shrugged. "I have no idea."

"But how is that possible?"

"It _shouldn't_ be possible. That's one of the many attributes of the Particles we don't understand. Are they extracting it out of the air around them? Are they somehow converting energy to mass in milliseconds, through processes we can't even begin to comprehend at this point? Are they acquiring it from some alternate dimension?"

Janet snickered at this, and even Pym, dour as he was, had to chuckle at the preposterousness of that last statement.

"We just don't know," he continued. "But the possibilities are fascinating. I've done some initial research, and if you could isolate the Particles' effects on mass without changing size, you could conceivably use them to confer on a living thing the ability to become as ethereal as air, or as hard and dense as a mountain of diamond."

Janet considered this. "Manipulatable mass."

Pym nodded. "That would be the vision."

Janet shook her head in wonder. "Amazing. You're going to win the Nobel Prize someday."

"Doubt it," Pym said. "Mainstream science doesn't seem to have much use for my ideas."

"Well mainstream science doesn't exactly have the best track record on novel concepts."

Pym shrugged with his eyebrows. "You're right about that."

Janet paused and stretched. "Well, Dr. Pym, you may discover something that changes the world tonight, but I'm not staying up for it." As soon as she said it, she caught herself. Pym looked at her quizzically.

"Sorry," she said. "That was something my Mom used to say to my Dad."

She propped her chin on her hand. "I miss Dad a lot right now. He would have loved this kind of research."

"He would have been proud of you," Pym nodded. "You've already brought more original ideas to this stuff than anybody I've worked with _since_ him."

Janet shook her head. "Maybe. But it isn't helping me find out who killed him."

Pym tried to offer encouragement. "You will."

"How? Sawyer will have my house under surveillance even after his men pull out. Not that I'd exactly know how to 'search for clues' anyway. Those two numbers were all I had, and now I'm at a dead end."

Pym turned back to his device. "Gee, I'm sorry to be just a 'dead end' for you."

Janet got up and walked over to Pym. "I didn't mean it like _that_. I'm just frustrated that I can't do more to solve his murder right now. But I'm not giving up. And until I can go home and get my life back to normal, this work is the best thing I could hope to be doing. Truth be told, it probably helps keep me from drowning in sorrow." She gave his hand a squeeze. "So it definitely doesn't _feel_ like a dead end."

Pym nodded. "I'm glad."

Janet smiled. "Okay. So . . . I'll see you in the morning I guess, right?"

"Okay," Pym said.

Janet headed upstairs and disappeared into the main level of the house. Pym watched her go. His eyes followed the curves of her body as she climbed the stairs. When she'd squeezed his hand, he'd felt like an electric current was running between them. But as soon as this thought entered his mind, he rebuked himself again.

"Pym, you gotta get your head straight," he said aloud.

He turned to resume work on his device. But he couldn't concentrate. His mind kept playing back the gorgeous shape of Janet's body as she climbed the stairs, but his heart kept retching up fresh waves of guilt every time. He tried concentrating harder on his work; he'd pour himself into it with all his energy. But after a few minutes, he felt his anger with himself growing inside him again. Finally he banged his tool against the side of a canister.

"Good God! My wife's not dead a week and I've got a schoolboy crush on some girl I just met!" The words tasted bitter coming out even as he said them.

He buried his head in his hands. "What kind of creep am I?" He started to sweat.

"I have to get my mind back on my _work_," he whispered. "I _will_."

He picked up his tool and resumed work. He worked fast, recklessly. He was sweating more. He worked like this for two more hours, getting clumsier as he got more tired, dropping things, picking them up and swearing, and working still more recklessly as he went.

The hour moved past midnight, and still he worked on. The modifications needed to incorporate Janet's nanoparticle dispersion were extensive. He got even more clumsy as the night dragged along. He banged his knuckles when a tool he was turning gave way.

"Dammit!" He held his hand close to his body. The sweat was pouring off him now.

As he sat there nursing his throbbing hand, he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look, and when he did, his jaw dropped open and his arms went limp by his sides.

_This is impossible! _

He rubbed his eyes and looked again, but it was the same. And Pym felt a rising tingle in the pit of his stomach. But whether it was butterflies of excitement or jitters of terror, he couldn't say.

There, standing at the other end of the lab, was his dead wife, Maria.


	34. Chapter 34

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 34**

**The home of Henry Pym, Larchmont, New York**

Henry Pym stared in disbelief. There, at the far end of his laboratory, stood his dead wife.

"Maria? Is that really you?" Pym rose to his feet, the tool he'd been using to modify his Particle Device clattering forgotten to the floor.

"How did you . . . ." he stammered. "How did you get here?"

"I _live_ here, don't you remember?" Maria said.

Pym dropped to his knees. "Of course, but . . . Maria. How is this possible?"

"Who's the girl?" Maria asked.

"What girl?"

"The one who's living in my house!" Maria shouted back.

Pym attempted another weak smile. "Janet? She's . . . she's nobody, just the daughter of an old colleague."

"Is that why you stare at her the way you do?"

Just then, the same feeling came over Pym that he'd had the night he came home from Serbia—he became both exceptionally aware of his body in time and space, and yet unable to feel the floor beneath his knees at the same time. His head swam, and he grew deeply confused. He'd dreamed of Maria's face every day and night since her death. But this apparition didn't act like Maria at all.

"Maria, please. I saw you . . . I saw them kill you."

"Or is that what you _wanted_ to see?"

"No!" Pym cried. "No, for the love of God, never!"

""Then why have you forgotten me so soon?"

"Forgotten you? I haven't forgotten you! I think of you every day! I've missed you-"

"Then why is another woman already living in my house!" Maria yelled.

Then Pym felt it again, but worse. His consciousness shifted from inside his body to outside. The Blue Man of His Self-Reproach formed again out of the air beside him, and he and the man were one, as the Blue Man and Maria were one. Pym felt an old pain in his knee flare up from kneeling on the floor like this, and at the same time felt his consciousness brush eternity. He shifted back and forth, dozens of times, between his body and the Blue Man's.

"You're not real," Pym groaned.

But the look on Maria's face had changed. She wore a dark frown of contempt now. The Blue Man shared it, as he stood next to Pym and Maria at the same time, yet being only one. All of Pym's spatial relationships left him. Only Maria, the Blue Man and his body, floating in a void, were real.

"Oh God what's happening to me!" Pym cried.

"To YOU!" Maria shouted. "You watched me die and all you can think about is YOU!?"

"No!" Pym shouted. "NO! I've thought of you every day!"

Maria and the Blue Man laughed at him.

"Thought of me," they said together. "Thought of me? When you've been watching that new girl's ass every day like some hormone-gorged teenager?"

"Maria, it's not like that! I love you!"

"Tell me you haven't felt something for that girl! TELL ME!"

Pym's head reeled again and he crumpled in a heap on the floor.

"Maria, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You're a failure," Maria and the Blue Man said. "You're an ant of a man. That's what you should try if you want to make yourself useful – try using that device of yours to turn yourself into what you really are. An ant of a man!"

"Maria, for the love of God, why are you doing this to me? You know I loved you!"

"Me?!" Maria cried. "ME?! You ogle the new girl, while my body isn't even buried yet! You don't even know where they dumped my body, do you Ant Man!?"

"Then show me! Tell me!" Pym cried, tears streaming down his face. "I'll go back. I'll get you."

"You'll do nothing!" Maria and the Blue Man said. "You'll stay here and keep performing your pasty experiments in this God-forsaken basement, and you'll keep ogling every new girl that comes across your transom, and you'll be a failure, Henry. Did you know that? You'll always be a failure! That's all you ever were!"

Pym was sobbing now, hunched over, his tears falling onto his knees.

"Look at him there!" Pym heard the Blue Man say. "Quivering and blubbering."

Then he and Maria laughed, long and loud, snorting and scornful.

"NO!" Pym yelled. "NO! I loved you Maria. I love you still!"

Suddenly the Blue Man was right next to him again. But when he spoke, it was the voice of Maria. He leaned over Pym.

"You know what you need to do," the Maria man said softly.

"I do?" Pym looked up, his lips trembling.

"You could have prevented my death," Maria man said. "You could have stopped them."

"But there were so many," Pym protested.

"That's the ant man talking!"

"But I tried!" Pym cried. "I fought them."

"You tried and you failed! Like you fail at everything!"

Pym looked back down at the floor. But after a time, he nodded. "I know. You're right."

"You could have prevented my death," Maria man said again.

"Yes," Pym said. "I _should_ have."

"Yes," said Maria man. "My death is your fault."

Pym hesitated.

"Yes."

"You've known this all along, haven't you?"

"Yes," Pym said.

"Then what are you going to do about it?"

Pym shook his head again.

"What _can_ I do?"

"You can join me," Maria man said. "You can finally do something worthwhile with your life, turn that device on yourself, and join me here."

Pym still knelt quivering in a heap. He said nothing for a long time. Finally:

"Yes."

"You know it's the only way to redeem yourself for letting me die, don't you?"

"Yes," Pym said. His voice was hoarse and dead.

"Then you know what you have to do."

Pym looked back at his particle device, still sitting partially unassembled on the table behind him.

"A few more adjustments and it will be ready."


	35. Chapter 35

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 35**

**Previous relevant chapter: 32**

**Dovrefjell-Sunndalsfjella National Park, Norway**

Donald Blake leaned heavily on his cane and watched the ultra-fast Stark Industries aircraft that brought him here bank west out of a vertical takeoff. Tony Stark himself had stayed behind to get to work immediately on his own problem – several dozen microbots embedded in his chest. But he'd put one of the company's top pilots at Blake's disposal. After a few days' delay to clear his schedule, Blake was back in Norway.

Stark's pilot had groused about the landing spot. But the jet's vertical landing capability allowed him to drop it within a kilometer of Blake's goal. Blake, for his part, had worried about the pilot's low, fast approach across the national park – fearful it would draw unwanted attention from the authorities.

But as it was, it figured to be one of Blake's easier expeditions. He clambered over a low ridge, then turned and started along the length of the gully on the other side. Before long, another ravine entered from the left. Blake turned down it. A few dozen meters along this, he turned right down another rift. His progress was slow, given his bum leg. But slowly and steadily, he burrowed deeper into the jagged barrens.

His tablet device, displaying an electronic copy of an ancient map, cast a glow on Blake's face every time he checked it, which he did often. At last, he reached a small cave opening into the hillside. He pulled a flashlight from a pocket and went inside.

Blake knew that this cave had both a front and rear entrance. But as the rear entrance could be approached only over extremely rough terrain, he had chosen this one. He shuffled along for perhaps 30 meters, then, checking his tablet again, turned left and stepped into a dark alcove in the rock. He held his flashlight up and found runes carved into the alcove's rock ceiling.

"This is the place!" he whispered excitedly. His breath fogged in the cold.

Whether these runes had been seen before by human eyes, Blake could only speculate. But it didn't matter. Anyone who had found them wouldn't know what they meant.

But he did.

After checking them once more carefully, he backed out of the alcove into the main channel of the cave. Then he started counting steps: one – two – three – four – five . . . . After thirty-nine, he turned around and looked up. In the ceiling was another recess, angling away from him. Shining his flashlight in, he could see that, just at the recess' highest point, a low shelf protruded. He couldn't see whether anything was on it, but he could reach up and run his hand along it.

When he did, his hand hit something hard. Something long and narrow and round – like a staff! He could feel his heart pounding with excitement as he gently removed the object and brought it down for closer view. "At last!" he thought. _After all the years, all the fruitless searches, at last I hold the fabled Staff of the Wanderer!_

He shone his light directly on the object, up close, and . . . .

"_What the hell?"_

The staff he held was not the ornate Staff of the Wanderer he'd expected, but an ordinary stick. No markings, barely even any evidence of having been carved. It was gnarled and uneven, unadorned with either character or picture. Just a stick. Like some college kid on a weekend hike might use then throw away.

"No!" Blake said quietly, shaking his head. "This is impossible."

He turned the stick over and over in his hands. Nothing. No runes. No symbols. No significance.

"No. No. No!" He cried again. "This was my last hope!"

The only thing he could surmise was that someone must have gotten to the real staff first. Then, for reasons he could only speculate, they replaced it with this worthless and poorly crafted imitation.

He turned his face upward into the darkness of the cave. "NO!" he shouted. "This was supposed to be it! This was supposed to be my destiny!"

Just then, he heard voices coming from the direction of the cave entrance.

_You have _got_ to be kidding me. Again? _

The pilot's flyover must have brought the authorities after all. _Damn!_

He realized then that they'd probably heard him shout. That would mean they already knew he was in here. He feared that if the Norwegian authorities caught him again, it would mean prison time.

_I've got to get out of here!_

He thought of the rear entrance of the cave. His only hope was to make it out the back entrance, radio for a pickup, and hope the super-fast pilot could make it back in time.

"It's worth a try."

Scurrying along as best he could, he made for the back entrance. He was still carrying the worthless little imitation staff, but it proved helpful at least in one respect: by using both it and his normal walking cane, he was more stable as he scrambled along the cave's narrow, uneven passages. But he could tell the voices behind were gaining on him.

Blake stumbled along as fast as his frail body would carry him, trying to hold his flashlight while walking with both canes. He bumped and scraped past stalactites and tight squeezes again and again, until he was scraped and bruised and sweating in spite of the cold. But eventually, he turned the last corner to the exit . . .

. . . to find it blocked.

_What!?_

It looked as if a cave-in had occurred recently, and the rear entrance was completely blocked with rock. He stood blinking at it in disbelief. During which he could hear unmistakably that the pursuing voices were getting closer.

"My God, I'm cursed!" Blake shouted. He didn't care if they heard him now. He was trapped. Trapped in a Norwegian cave, his last hope for finding the Staff of the Wanderer dashed, and the authorities closing in on him. The end of the line for his quest, his dreams, his destiny.

"It's over," he whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't believe this is happening."

Blake lowered his head in resignation, a posture that might have looked like prayer under different circumstances. "I'll never find it now." The voices behind him drew closer still.

Then, in one last burst of frustration, he raised his head and let out a yell that roiled from the deepest recesses of his being. The anguished cry of one who's dreams have been crushed, whose hope in the world has gone out. Then he raised the stick he'd found in the cave, and in a blind act of impotent rage, brought it crashing down onto the boulder that blocked his escape route.

In that instant, a blinding flash of light filled the cave, and the tremendous clap of a noise like thunder vibrated into the very earth itself.


	36. Chapter 36

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 36**

**Previous relevant chapter: 34**

**The home of Dr. Henry Pym, Larchmont, New York**

Henry Pym finished the final adjustments to his Particle Device. It was vastly different – and smaller still – from its original triple-phone-booth dimensions. The magnets, gas dispensers and other apparatus crowded close in a shallow semicircle, all pointing in one direction. The test subject no longer sat inside the device, but in front of it.

Pym's shirt was drenched in sweat, his hair disheveled. Once again he had worked all night. Outside, a brilliant sunny morning was in full glory. But none of that light made it to his basement lab.

His wife's apparition hounded him still. Though her vision had disappeared, her voice still echoed in Pym's ears. _It's your fault I'm dead._ And the only way he could make restitution was to complete the work on his greatest achievement, then use it on himself as punishment.

Pym stepped back and rubbed his eyes as he gave it a final visual inspection. Groggy, but concluding it was ready, he crossed to the computer console and started keying in commands. One of which was to reverse the polarity of the magnets. All of his previous experiments had been to _grow_ objects. But this one would involve shrinking. He didn't know if it would work. But he didn't care. That was the point, wasn't it?

Out of habit, he reached for the button to record the proceedings. Then he stopped and withdrew his hand. There would be no recording of what was about to happen here.

His eye fell one last time on the photo of Maria that sat on his desk. Then he clenched his teeth as tears filled his eyes, and punched in the command to power up the device.

In addition to his other modifications, Pym had managed to contain all of the device's programming on a single laptop. This he carried to the device, set up, and started typing in the final commands. A gentle hum rose as the device generated the magnetic field around him.

Just then, the door from upstairs opened, and he heard Janet's footfalls on the stairs. He hurriedly began typing in the final command.

"Good morn—" Janet stopped short. "Hank! What are you doing?!"

Pym's hands shook, and sweat dripped into his eyes. He typed the command in wrong. He started again.

"Hank, for God's sake! What are you doing?!" Janet called again. She leapt down the last few steps in a single bound and raced across the room. "Hank, stop!"

Pym hit "enter" on the final command, and the device immediately began to bathe him in the invisible particle suspension gas. But in the same instant, Janet reached him. She crashed into him with all her force to tackle him out of the way. In his bleary state, he went down easily. But she was smaller than he, and while her momentum was enough to push him down, it wasn't enough to carry her through the tackle. She hit him with all she had, then came to a stop directly in front of the device.

Pym looked up from the floor just in time to see Janet van Dyne disappear.


	37. Chapter 37

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 37**

**Previous relevant chapter: 35**

**Dovrefjell-Sunndalsfjella National Park, Norway**

Donald Blake was gone. The man who stood where he'd been was different entirely.

Different, for that matter, from the entire human race.

He was tall - 6-foot-6, broad shouldered, and bulging with muscles. Long blonde hair fell about a rugged, fearless visage. He wore a brigandine studded with two rows of metal discs rising from waist to shoulders. His upper arms were covered in a type of mail made of interlocking plates that adjusted like skin to his every move. His lower arms were protected by vembraces of what looked like leather; his lower legs by tall boots. A bright red cape billowed behind him.

But as mythical as his attire appeared, what he held in his hand was more remarkable still. Where the staff had been, he now held a hammer. It bore a large, square head on a short, leather-wrapped handle. Runes and other mysterious symbols fairly shone in the metal head, and the cave glowed faintly by the sheer eminence of energy visible on its surface.

The man who stood where Blake had been looked down at himself, at his hammer, held his arms before him as if seeing his body for the first time. He scarcely breathed, so great was his wonder.

Then the voices returned.

"You at the back of the cave!" came a loud cry from further forward in the black tunnel. "You are ordered to come forward and show yourself peacefully!"

The man recognized the language as Norwegian. But he understood it.

He laughed.

"I wish you no harm, my friends," he said quietly, more to himself than for the others in the cave to hear. "But I shall not be coming peacefully today."

With that, he turned to the boulder blocking the cave's rear entrance, swung his hammer, and with one thundering strike blasted it a hundred meters into the dim light of the Nordic dusk. He laughed again - a bold, fearless laughter of both delight and conquest – and stepped forth into the evening air. He breathed deeply and looked around.

"By the gates of Asgard, what have I become?" he heard himself say.

His reverie was broken by the sound of voices again, behind him in the cave.

"Whatever you're blasting with, you are ordered to cease and desist at once!" came the cry. "This is national park land and what you are doing is illegal. You'll only end up endangering yourself."

The man had cocked his head sideways to listen. He smiled.

"If this be danger, then let me meet it with valor."

He held his arms before him again, marveling at their obvious strength. Then, to test that strength, he began whirling the powerful hammer he held. He watched in amazement as his right arm, as steady as a ship's keel, held fast though the heavy hammer swung around it in an accelerating orbit. He whirled the hammer faster and faster, glorying in his might and testing if it had any limit. When suddenly the hammer, as if embodied with a will of its own, shot off into the gloomy sky – carrying him with it like a man holding a rocket fin.

He saw the ground recede beneath his feet as he soared high into the night sky, carried by nothing but the hammer. Upward and onward it sailed, and the wind raced past the man's ears, blowing his hair and cape like a hurricane. But steadily, gracefully, the hammer began to arc back toward the earth, tracing an elegant bow in the sky.

But it didn't slow down as it descended. It kept careening groundward at rocket speed – then smashed into the earth like a meteor flaming out of the void. Yet the man's seemingly invincible body absorbed the impact with ease. He came to a stop standing, knees slightly bent at the landing, in a terrain of endless snow and ice. Towering glaciers and snowdrifts lumbered in all directions. And it was much colder – though he noted this more as an academic point than a discomfort. His skin seemed impervious to the freezing temperatures.

In fact, he was standing a hundred kilometers north of the Arctic Circle.

"By the gods of all that is right and true!" the man exclaimed. "I have flown!"

He laughed again - a deep, victorious laugh. "I have flown!" he cried into the night sky.

He turned and considered one of the glaciers, some distance off. He looked down at the hammer in his hand. His face took on a curious grin, and he reared back and hurled the hammer toward the glacier. It struck with a thud like a train plowing into a snow bank – a deep, muffled concussion – and the glacier shattered in an explosion of icicles and show.

But then something equally remarkable happened. The hammer came back! Though he'd thrown it in a straight line at the glacier, and it had smashed through without even slowing down, yet lo and behold, as the fragments fell, out of the darkness he saw the hammer flying back to him at top speed. He caught it easily in one hand.

"By the nine realms!" the man said, but slowly, reverently. "I have become a god!"

He looked himself up and down once more. Then a thought entered his mind.

"Stark," he whispered. "I must show Tony Stark. It was he who enabled me to find this. I must show him it was real!"

With that, the man started whirling his hammer at accelerating speed again, and after a couple of seconds, shot skyward, and disappeared into the night.


	38. Chapter 38

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 38**

**Previous relevant chapter: 36**

**The home of Henry Pym, Larchmont, New York**

Henry Pym gasped in shock and horror. Janet van Dyne, the woman who had contributed more to his research in the last few days than anyone else in his life, had seemingly vanished into thin air.

He jumped to his feet, terrified at what he'd just done. He stepped toward his Particle Device - then froze suddenly. He didn't move a muscle for several seconds. In that instant, he realized that if what had happened to Janet was what he _thought_ had happened, one wrong move could be fatal.

Slowly, gingerly, he stooped down – making sure not to move his feet – and began looking around on the floor. In a few seconds, he found what he was looking for.

It was Janet.

She was three-quarters of an inch tall.

"Oh my God, what have I done!" Pym cried.

He bent lower to look closer, and was relieved to see she was alive. The effects of the Particles had evidently caused her to collapse, but she was getting to her feet even as he looked on. But his mind could scarcely make sense of what his eyes were seeing. It was Janet, as tangible and alive as before. But so tiny. It was hard for him to think of her as real.

"Janet! Can you hear me?" he cried.

He thought he heard a squeak in reply, but he couldn't be sure. He realized that at her present size, her vocal cords wouldn't be able to make a sound he could easily hear. And he could see that she was groggy and disoriented from the size change.

Pym grabbed fistfuls of his own hair and let out a scream. "Dear God Almighty! What have I done? What have I done!?"

He looked down at her again. It seemed impossible. The device had worked. Yet he didn't know if Janet's modifications had worked; they'd never been tested. He'd never intended to use the device on anyone but himself, and he didn't care whether the Particles killed him or not. But now Janet had been exposed, and for all he knew, her body could even now be undergoing horrific side effects, and he wouldn't be able to tell.

"Janet, I have to bring you back!" he cried. "I'm gonna bring you back!"

He gingerly reached down and picked her up. She was moving, but he couldn't tell if she was trying to climb onto his hand or squirm out.

"I'm gonna bring you back," he repeated. He pulled a metal stool up in front of the Particle Device and placed Janet on it. "This should be okay." He knew from previous experiments that the Particles didn't work on metal.

Pym stepped over to the laptop and keyed in commands furiously. "I have to reverse the polarity." Not that he had any idea whether that would work. No human had ever been submitted to the Particles in the first place. So of course he had no idea whether he could bring anyone back to normal.

"Everything else the same," he said to himself as he tried to scan the setting specifications on the laptop screen as fast as he could. "Everything else the same." He just had to hazard an educated guess that if the particle counts and magnetism were the same, but the polarity reversed, the effect would be proportionately identical in the opposite direction.

"This is madness," he cried as he worked. "Dear God, this is madness!"

He looked back at Janet. She was looking over the edge of the stool, but again, at that size, he had no idea if she was trying to escape, just exploring, if she was sick . . . or if she was dying or in pain – nothing. At last the laptop screen signaled readiness, and Pym placed his finger over the "enter" key.

"Janet, I'm so sorry!" He looked at Janet one more time. "I'm so, so sorry!" Then he looked back down at the "enter" key. "Please God. Let this work." He pressed it.

The device hummed and hissed, and Pym knew the magnetic field and particle suspension gas were surrounding Janet's tiny form. Then, in a few blinks of an eye, there was Janet again, back to normal size. If he'd been looking in another direction, it would have seemed that she had just materialized out of thin air.

For a split second Janet stood with her head near the ceiling, still on the stool. But the effect of the Particles, twice in only a few seconds, was too much. She collapsed into unconsciousness and fell off the stool, crashing in a heap onto the hard lab floor.

"JANET!" Pym cried. He raced over to her. He placed his head to her chest. She was breathing. He checked her pulse. Her heart was beating.

"Oh thank God!" Pym said. "Janet, can you hear me? Janet?"

She was unresponsive. Pym jumped up, ran across the lab and grabbed a medical kit. He came back and ran a quick check on Janet's other vital signs. Blood pressure was slightly elevated but okay. Reflexes checked out. There didn't appear to be any visible evidence of injury. Her breathing was shallow but normal.

After a few minutes' urgent testing, Pym sat down on the floor, his back against a cabinet. He plied his forehead with his hands.

"Oh God, I could have killed her." He was crying now. "I could have killed her." He looked back at Janet's form. To look at her, she could have been sleeping peacefully. But he didn't know whether some side-effect of the Particles might be delayed – might even now be working its ill effect inside her body, unseen.

"I'm not going to wait around to find out." He picked up Janet and carried her upstairs to a spare bedroom. Then he ran back to his lab, his mind descending in a swirl of self-loathing as soon as Janet was out of sight. He looked around the lab, his eyes wild, his teeth bared in a snarl.

"God-damned _FOOL_!" he screamed. And he lunged into a frenzy of destruction. He set into smashing computer screens and flinging files and instruments from the desktops. He turned over tables and picked up containers and shattered them against the wall. He kicked over stools and chairs, pulled shelving units over, hammered his fists into his glass-framed diplomas that hung on the wall until his hands bled.

"I'm a God-damned FOOL!" he cried again. Before long, there was nothing left of the lab except the Particle Device, still sitting untouched on the other side of the lab.

"Now I will end this!" Pym yelled. "Now I will do this, once and for all!" He stalked over to the device and started hammering in commands again. "I'll die with the wreckage of my failures!" he cried. "Die like the insect that I am!"

In seconds, the commands were in and Pym struck the "enter" key. The device began to hum again, and the thin hiss released the particle suspension gas all around him.

But he had forgotten to return the polarity to its original setting. The device was still set to enlarge. In seconds, Pym's agonized frame shot up to enormous size. His body was gaining mass in immense quantities by the millisecond, so that by the time his head hit the ceiling, his body already had the proportionate density and strength to shatter the wallboard. The wooden framing behind it was sturdier, so that for a few seconds, Pym was pressed painfully against it, his body quivering under the strain as it sought to break free. Then another instant and he shattered through to the first floor of his house, then out the roof.

Pym let out a horrendous cry of pain and psychosis. His body topped out at 65 feet tall. He looked down at his house, where the lower half of his body was still trapped. In a seething rage, he started beating, kicking and screaming, sending shards of wood, plaster, roofing tiles and glass flying for a hundred feet in every direction. Soon he'd enlarged the hole enough that he could step free into his back yard.

He yelled again, clutching his head in agony. His scream, magnified by his gigantic size, echoed off the surrounding houses. He looked down at a world now miniaturized at his feet. Two houses down, neighbor kids were playing in their back yard. But Pym's unhinged brain saw only insects. He screamed again as they scurried for the shelter of their house, and raised a titanic leg to crush them. His foot came down with a deep thump where they'd been playing. He missed.

But he knew what he had to do.

The insects were coming. They'd be all over him soon. And now that he'd done this, the prospect of a horrible death, swarmed under by thousands of many-legged bugs, terrified him. He had to get away.

So Pym – a Goliath the height of a five-story building – set off toward the skyline of Manhattan, which he could just see in the distance from that height. He rampaged as he went – ripping up fences and stomping through houses – a one-man behemoth of wreckage and destruction.

In just a few giant strides, he was already two blocks away.

* * *

Of course . . . his clothes having ripped off during the growth process, he was also completely naked.

END OF PART 2


	39. Chapter 39

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 39**

**Stark Industries Global Headquarters, Queens, New York**

It fit like a glove. An _armored_ glove.

Tony Stark was just wiggling into the last piece of the 21st century suit of armor he'd had his fabrication department working on for days. It was a masterpiece of design. Every square inch of the wearer's body was covered by a silver-colored metal alloy that combined hardness and light weight to a degree never before seen in the world. Yet the suit moved with the wearer to near-perfection, providing flexibility a medieval knight would never have dreamed possible. The joints, composed of pulleys and pistons of the same alloy as the armor, generated leverage that gave the wearer superhuman strength.

Repulsors were embedded in the palms of the gauntlets and the soles of the boots. Stark had programmed the onboard computers to respond to voice commands – "Fire" would shoot the gauntlet repulsor of an arm that was extended, or fire the boot repulsors if the arms weren't extended. Crude, but sufficient for now.

But as impressive as all these engineering achievements were, what was unseen was just as impressive. Stark's entire torso was permeated by a magnetic field generated by dozens of tiny, powerful electromagnets embedded in a thin but strong mesh vest worn underneath the armor. The microbots buried in his chest would never move, never finish their journey to his heart.

This last feature Stark had designed separately and made part of what was possibly the suit's pinnacle feature: a miniaturized nuclear device contained in a radiation-proof housing that he wore in the hole in the armor's breastplate - the arc reactor. The reactor and the magnet vest never came off: Stark had designed them to be worn constantly, with very few exceptions. The reactor integrated seamlessly into the suit, then detached when he took the suit off. It was the price Stark would have to pay for the malicious attempt on his life - presumably have to pay for the _rest_ of his life.

Stark fastened the breastplate into place and powered up the suit – the only piece he wasn't wearing was the helmet. A thin whine rose as the reactor's immense power output flowed through the suit's systems. He moved to lift his arm and heard the satisfying hyper-engineered rotation of gears, motors and lifts - designed to micrometer-specifications themselves - raise the armor's arm unit accordingly. He lifted his leg and the leg armor did the same. A micro-thin layer of sensors on the inside surface of the armor made sure the suit responded to every move of his body.

"Seems to be working perfectly," Stark said aloud – again, recorders were running throughout his lab, capturing everything that happened in the room, synching it with data being fed to and from the computers in the lab, and pouring all of it into massive databases that would make anything learned available for future development. Stark never had to reinvent wheels.

"Dad wouldn't have believed this," Stark said again. At the mention of his father, he stopped briefly, staring at nothing.

"And pretty soon, I'm gonna use this to find those who killed him. And I'm gonna make them pay."

He looked up at the hole in the exterior wall of his lab where his attacker had come in. It still hadn't been repaired – a thin cut of temporary wallboard and blue tarp was all that separated his lab from Queens County.

"Note to self," Stark called again into the air. With that voice command, he knew his computers would capture what he was about to say and feed it in a memo to Pepper Potts so it would get done. "Fire the entire construction department. Or if we're using outside contractors to fix this hole in my lab, buy the company and close it. End." That closed the memo. He added under his breath, "Morons. That should have been fixed the next day."

Stark turned away from the hole to start putting on the suit's helmet when he heard a loud crash behind him, coming from right where the hole was. It sounded just like shattering wallboard. He couldn't believe it.

_They came back! Son of a bitch! Whoever attacked me came back!_

Stark didn't intend to give his attacker a second chance. He started turning, simultaneously powering up his gauntlet repulsor. As soon as he'd turned enough, he gave the voice command, "fire!", and a blast of energy shot from his palm.

It was only _after_ he fired that his eyes registered what he had turned to see.

Standing just inside a massive hole he'd made in the wallboard, was a man. But not a sinister masked villain nor a black-ops killer as Stark might have expected. It was a man with long blonde hair and a flowing red cape, wearing what might have passed for an outdated assemblage of armor himself. He held a heavy-headed war hammer in one hand. In the split-second it took for Stark's repulsor blast to reach him, he swiped up with the hammer and knocked it harmlessly away.

"You son of a bitch!" Stark yelled. "You killed my parents and you tried to kill me!" He called "fire!" again, this time with both repulsors. The man's hammer batted one blast away, but the other found its mark. But it deflected off a metal disc on the man's brigandine.

"Nay, Tony Stark!" the man yelled, and his deep voice resonated like distant thunder. "Thou knowest me!"

"I knowest _this_ you bastard! You're gonna pay for what you did!" Stark let fly with a barrage of repulsor blasts in staccato rapid-fire. The man's hammer swung madly, faster than the eye could follow, parrying the blasts into Stark's walls, ceiling, and floors. One shot out the hole in the wallboard, and for a split-second, Stark registered the thought: "I wonder what the range of these is?" He held his fire for a second.

"Hold Tony!" the man cried again. "I tell thee thou _do_ knowest me. I am Donald Blake!"

"Not unless you've done some _serious_ steroids pal!" Stark held his hands side-by-side and fired both repulsors simultaneously. The double-strength blast finally had the power to overcome the man's hammer somewhat, and he fell backward to the floor.

"Nay Tony! Thou didst deliver me to Norway!" He held his hammer in front of him for defense. "I found the staff! It is I! I am transformed!"

Stark's repulsors were powering up for another round, but when Stark heard this, he paused, his hands still extended. He squinted his eyes, as if looking harder would somehow make this bodybuilder look like Blake.

"How do you know about that? Answer me! If you've done something with Blake I swear I'll-"

"Nay. We sat together as friends, Tony. You and I. I tended thy wounded chest and told thee of my destiny. Thou toldest me of a magnetic device thou wouldst wear on thy chest." The man paused to consider Stark's armor. "And this must be it. 'Tis wondrous to behold."

Stark still held his repulsors extended in front of him. "You're telling me _you're_ Donald Blake?"

"Verily," the man replied. "The selfsame whom thy aircraft ferried across the ocean to the land of my—"

"Okay, okay," Stark interrupted. "Number one, what's with the King James English? And number two, do you really expect me to take you seriously dressed like a Renaissance Festival extra?"

"I know not how to answer thee," the man said. "I found the staff, pounded it upon a rock, and was transformed. I know not why I speakest thus, nor the origin of this raiment."

"And the muscles? Where'd you get those – Zumba?"

The man got back to his feet. "I believe they are manifestations of the strength I had within me all along."

"Yeah, right. That's your motivational CDs talking. If you're really Donald Blake, tell me this: where's the staff?"

The man held up his hammer.

"No, that's a hammer. Ham-mer," Stark enunciated sarcastically. "Used to pound things. Not a staff."

"Behold!" And the man pounded the hammer onto the floor handle first. In that same instant, a bright flash filled the room, and a crash of thunder. Stark reeled backward, shielding his eyes. He was just powering up his repulsors again when the flash faded, and there before him knelt Donald Blake.

Stark was speechless. He stood for a full minute, eyes wide, mouth open.

"Mother of God. It was true," he said at last.

Blake struggled to get up from a kneeling position with his lame leg, propping himself on the staff that rested where the hammer had been.

"Yes," he said quietly. "It was true."

Stark put a hand to his head and started walking around the room. "Are you kidding me?" he said quietly.

Blake looked back at the hole he'd made in the wallboard. "In hindsight, maybe I should have changed back before I got here, and come through the front door."

"No, no, it's fine," Stark said, still wandering an arc around the room. His armor made loud clomping sounds with every footfall. "It's just . . . how is this possible?"

"I don't know," Blake said.

"What kind of science could do this? What are you, some kind of shape shifter?"

"I'm not sure," Blake said. "But I believe I may be . . . ." He trailed off.

Stark turned and looked at him. "Go on."

"I believe I may be the manifestation of a god on earth."

Stark shook his head. "But gods aren't real are they?"

"Shall I pound my staff on the floor again?"

"No," Stark said. "But . . . . How is this _possible_?"

Blake pulled at his chin thoughtfully. "It is conceivable I suppose that the ancient mythological stories have some basis in reality. Some people – mostly conspiracy theorists, I would have said before now – believe that the ancient stories of the gods in fact describe visits by alien beings."

"Do you believe that?"

"No, but . . . ."

"But what?"

"When I was in that other form, I did have . . . memories."

"Of what?"

"I'm not sure. It was images of places, faces of people I don't know. But they didn't look . . . . Well." Blake looked hard at Stark. "It didn't look like Earth."

Stark blinked hard and started clomping around the room again. "But this in incredible. This is like . . . magic!"

"Well you know the quote."

Stark nodded. "Yeah. 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.' Arthur C. Clarke."

"I'm a man of science, like you. I'm not prepared to chalk this up to magic. But all I know is this: I pound my staff on the floor sufficiently hard, I get some _serious_ technology."

"I should say," Stark nodded.

"But I could say the same about you," Blake added. "This armor, whatever that was you were shooting at me . . . that's pretty serious technology too."

"Yeah, well this is what I was telling you about—"

Just then, Pepper Potts burst into Stark's lab.

"Tony, you have a call on your direct line. She refuses to leave a message. She says it's urgent she speak with you right now."

Stark was miffed. "Yes, well, tell her I have a . . . _god_ in my office. I'll have to get back to her."

"I think she's calling about what's happening on TV."

Stark drew a blank. "And what is that?"

Pepper pulled up short and shot Tony an incredulous glance. "Are you kidding me? You haven't been following this?"

"Following what?"

Pepper didn't answer. She just headed across the lab to turn on the television.


	40. Chapter 40

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 40**

**The home of Henry Pym, Larchmont, New York**

Janet van Dyne started awake in the guest bedroom, disoriented. She jumped out of bed, but her head swam and she tumbled to the floor. She didn't know where she was. She clambered to her feet and ran into the hallway, and there, the memories started flooding back. She recognized the house. She remembered the basement lab – and what she had seen Pym doing there. She dashed off toward the basement door.

When she got there, she jerked it open and plunged down the stairs. Halfway down, she froze in shocked disbelief.

_What in God's name happened?_

A gaping hole was torn in the ceiling, clear through the upper floor and out the roof, such that she could see blue sky through it. The cracked lumber and frayed roof shingles told an unmistakable story: whatever made this hole did it from the inside.

The lab looked like a tornado had hit it. Every computer, work bench, shelf and piece of equipment had been thrown, turned over or damaged.

All but one.

There in the far corner, pristine amidst the chaos, sat Pym's particle device. The hole was right above it. Janet remembered, as if from a bad dream, rushing over to it. Hank had it pointed at himself, and she had tried to stop him. Then she remembered a nauseating sensation, that felt like falling, then a hazy memory of standing on a gigantic disk looking around at this same lab, yet fifty times larger. There was nothing after that. Only waking a few moments ago.

But her scientific mind was already putting the pieces together. Only they were impossible to believe. If that hole in the roof meant what she thought it meant, then Pym was out there somewhere. And he would be _gigantic_!

Janet still stood halfway down the stairs, thinking.

_What can I do? _

She dared not call the police – they had her house under surveillance back in White Plains. She didn't know any of Pym's associates, and she couldn't imagine what they could do anyway. She couldn't even think of any of her own friends to call.

Then she remembered.

She raced back upstairs and darted around the house until she found her purse. She started digging into it furiously. "Please, let it still be there."

At last, she fished it out: the business card Tony Stark had given her at the party. _Could that have been only a few days ago?_ "My direct line," he had said. In seconds, Janet was on the line with Pepper Potts. Then on hold for what seemed an eternity. At last, she heard a voice on the line again.

"Tony Stark." The voice was even more staccato than usual.

"Mr. Stark, this is Janet van Dyne. I'm so sorry to bother you—"

"Yeah, I know. What's going on?"

"Well, I have a little problem. An unusual—"

"Yeah, Janet, I need you to get to the point. Pepper said this is about what's on TV right now."

Janet paused. "About what's on TV?"

"Yes. What can you tell me about it?"

Janet stammered. "Umm . . . can you hang on a second?""

"Hang on a second? Janet, I need to go. We've got a little problem over here too."

Janet found the nearest remote while Stark was talking, and punched the TV on. Within seconds, a live feed from a local TV news helicopter filled her screen.

"Oh . . . my . . . God," she whispered, and sat down involuntarily on the sofa. _Of course!_ Something like this couldn't be hidden.

Rampaging across Henry Pym's 48-inch high-def television screen was Pym himself. Butt naked. And 65 feet tall. He was at this moment yanking a flatbed trailer around like it was a toy train. Then he proceeded to lift one end of the trailer, stand it upright, and push it over toward a gaggle of cops who had been trying to contain him. Janet watched in horror as the cops scattered for safety.

"Janet," she heard suddenly through the phone. "You've got two seconds to say something meaningful, then I've got work to do."

"Hank," Janet said softly, not so much to Stark, but her mouth was still up to the phone.

"What?"

"It's Hank," Janet repeated. "Dr. Henry Pym."

There was a brief moment of silence on the other end.

"You know this guy?"

"Yes," Janet's voice slurred. Her senses were reeling.

"Was his wanker that size when you met him?

"What?"

"Never mind. Who the hell is he?"

Stark's wisecrack seemed to shock Janet back to her senses. "He's Dr. Henry Pym, Tony. He's one of the foremost experts on molecular biology on earth. He has this invention . . . you've got to help him!" Janet's voice was getting more shrill as she talked.

"Wait a minute. What invention?"

"He invented a device that _made_ him that size! He's figured out a way to grow and shrink living organisms! He used it on himself! But it's not safe yet! He's out of his mind! Tony, his invention could have _major_ military implications! But if he kills somebody, he'll never get to finish his research! You've got to stop him! You've got to _save_ him!"

There was silence on the other end of the line for several seconds.

"Alright," Stark said at last. "I've got an idea. But I've got to go _right now_." The line went dead.

Janet wanted to ask what the idea was. But she knew there was no time to call back. She could only hope that Tony Stark could come up with something that would stop Henry Pym without killing him . . . and before _he_ killed anyone.

Then, as Janet sat there still holding the phone and watching the incredible images from TV, she got an idea of her own.


	41. Chapter 41

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 41**

**Stark Industries Global Headquarters, Queens, New York**

Tony Stark's own mind was reeling as much as Janet van Dyne's. As if it wasn't enough that the manifestation of a Norse god had just crashed into his office, he now had to absorb the fact that the naked giant out there tearing up New York was a friend of Janet's and one of the leading scientific minds in the world.

He blew out of his mouth and shook his head. All of his scientific training, all of his daredevil instincts, had never prepared him for _anything_ like this. For an instant he wavered, unsure he could handle a series of events as inconceivable as these.

But only for an instant.

He turned. "Don?"

Dr. Donald Blake still stood in the middle of Stark's office, mesmerized by the events on TV. He looked at Stark.

"I don't believe in coincidences," Stark said.

Blake looked at him blankly. "What does _that_ mean?"

"I don't have time to get into it right now. But what are the chances that on the same day I complete this suit of armor, you find your long-sought staff and it turns you into a Viking carpenter on steroids. _And_ one of the greatest scientists on earth discovers a way to grow himself 65 feet tall."

Blake shook his head incredulously and looked back at the TV. "Why are you thinking about probability at a time like this?"

"Because it's the most incredible development going on right now, your newfound biceps and that man's height notwithstanding. And . . ." Stark moved between Blake and the television. "It means you and I have work to do."

"Which is what?"

"You and I have to go stop that guy without killing him, and we have to do it before he kills anyone else." Stark looked down at himself. "And I have this suit of armor. And you have that hammer thingy you do."

Stark turned toward the hole in his office wall. "And we have this nice hole you made for us. We can fly right out."

"Have you ever flown that suit before?" Blake asked.

"Nope. But I've never let things like that stop me before."

Blake glanced back at the TV. Pym had just climbed the girders of a half-built midrise in The Bronx. Now he was twisting the crane on top of the building like a kid playing with a toy hook and ladder truck, sending people scattering for cover. But thankfully, he still didn't appear to have scored any fatal hits.

Blake thought about it. "It's risky. I don't even know what powers I may have in that other form. You just got your suit completed. We could cause more damage than we prevent."

Stark nodded. "Maybe. But the alternative is to sit here and watch on TV while somebody finally shoots and kills that guy. And history's greatest confluence of advances in human potential goes flying by, never captured, never understood, never leveraged. I'm not willing to let that happen. I'm going out there, with or without you."

Stark took a step toward Blake and leaned close.

"But, considering I've never flown this suit before, I'd feel a lot better if you came along."

Blake grinned and took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's do it."

Stark nodded, then clomped over to his main control console for his helmet. He had to get Blake to help him put it on – its face piece, side bars and centerpiece dome had to be assembled on the wearer. But in a few seconds, Blake stepped back, and Stark stood before him completely anonymous behind the suit of armor.

"Your turn," Stark said. His voice, processed through rudimentary speakers he'd mounted in the helmet at the last minute, sounded metallic and machine-like.

Blake stepped back still further. "Okay. Here goes."

Blake struggled into a kneeling position, then slammed the butt of his stick into the floor. Again, the explosion of light filled the room, and a clap like a thunderstrike. When the light faded, there stood the Thunder God where Blake had been.

"It's going to take me a while to get used to that," Stark said in his machine-voice.

"Understandable," said the warrior.

"Alright, after you." Stark gestured with an armored hand toward the hole.

"Tony, about flying in thine armor . . ."

"Don't worry about me," Stark dismissed him. "I'll be right behind you."

The Norseman looked at him pensively for a moment, then appeared to resign himself to the fact that Stark was going to fly, no matter what. He turned and, whirling his hammer faster and faster, in a few seconds shot skyward.

Stark stepped up to the ledge. "Here goes nothing."

Then he leaned forward and issued a voice command to fire the boot repulsors at half power. A high-pitched roar filled the room, and Stark roared into the skies, a man-sized silver bullet shooting toward the Bronx . . . with a wild, looping trajectory, like a rocket missing a fin.


	42. Chapter 42

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 42**

**The Bronx, New York**

The warrior arrived first.

Gliding down swiftly and silently, he landed on the roof of a midrise across the street from the block of three-to-five story structures where Henry Pym raged. Pym's eyes bulged out, and his teeth were locked in a fixed grimace. He thrashed and pounded everything around him, stomping and roaring, writhing and twisting in the agony that tore at his tortured mind.

_The insects are everywhere!_ Scurrying through the streets, clambering through houses, infesting cars and parks, schools and sidewalks. So many! So very many of them!

The truth was, there were fewer by the minute. He had rampaged his way down here from Larchmont, leaving a trail of wreckage like a tornado – caved-in rooftops, overturned cars, ripped up fences. But as the singular obsession of his tormented mind was to get away from the bugs, he hadn't killed anyone so far. And the cops - understandably caught unprepared for a 65-foot raving streaker – had quickly observed that this Goliath was carving an almost straight-line path from Larchmont toward Manhattan. This allowed them to focus on evacuating a mile-wide swath in his path - a strategy that had paid off so far. The monster hadn't veered more than four or five blocks left or right from his course.

But the deeper he moved into the city, the more it bogged him down. More buildings, bigger buildings, more traffic – all of it arrayed to thwart him. His flight was giving way to sheer, thrashing rage. He swiveled his massive torso, first one way, then another, unsure where to run. All he could think of was the awful thought of bugs crawling all over him.

And now this new threat.

When Pym looked at the tiny warrior, his tortured mind saw only another insect – albeit one that wore a red cape and brandished a hammer. Dust and debris formed a cloud on the ground around Pym's feet. He reached into the cloud, yanked up an armful of bricks, and sent them flying toward the miniature Viking. But the warrior swatted them away with one swing of his hammer, sending them scattering with a loud "POP."

Pym's terror and madness multiplied. He reared back to throw a haymaker punch at the bug, when suddenly a flash of bright metal caught his eye.

A streak of silver careened out of the air and hit the street a half-block away. Then it bounced – once, twice - and rolled to a stop just beyond Pym's right foot. Pym disengaged from his swing at the first intruder and instead raised his foot high over the new one.

"Okay, so I gotta work on the landings," he heard the tiny Iron Man say. Then Pym brought his foot down with a thunderous "Whump!" and the Iron Man disappeared beneath it. Pym turned back to the caped insect.

"I'll kill you!" Pym roared in his Goliath-sized voice. "I'll kill you all!" He reared back again for his roundhouse swing, when he heard a noise, like the power of a jet engine harnessed in a soup can, coming from under his right foot. Then he was suddenly flying backwards head over heels. He landed with a gigantic _"Thu-THOOM!"_ into a block of buildings one street over.

The tiny Iron Man zipped into view above him. "Hey! You scratched the suit!"

Pym launched a stupendous kick at the armored bug, and it connected perfectly. The silver-clad insect went flying out of view.

Pym started climbing out of the rubble his impact had made. But now the first intruder, the caped one, was back – again directly in front of him, standing on a rooftop at eye level.

"Dr. Henry Pym!" he heard the creature say. "We art thy friends! Becalm thyself that we may treat with thee! And for Odin's sake, cover thy loins man! Thy staff swayeth most unseemly!"

Pym had no idea what the bug had just said. But he didn't care. He swung a giant fist at the insect and felt a satisfying "ping" as his knuckles sent the little helmeted beetle flying off into the air. But no sooner had the creature disappeared than he came flying back, a tiny hammer held out in front of him. Pym was getting ready to swat at the pest again, but before he could move, the bug slammed into him. At the last minute, the tiny Viking pulled his hammer down and rammed Pym with his shoulder. Even so, Pym felt like a bomb exploded in his chest. He flew backwards again, landing back in the rubble of his first impact.

_That hurt!_

Pym's mind reeled. He shook his head to clear it, and saw that the tiny Iron Man had rejoined the helmet-beetle on the rooftop across the street. Pym's tortured mind tried to figure out what to do next. Terror shot through him as his mind conjured up the prospect of these pests felling him, then all the bugs swarming over him. He could imagine their awful legs, scuttling over his skin, into his mouth, his eyes, his ears. _I can't stay down!_ _The insects will be all over me!_

Just then, he caught a break. His impact had evidently ruptured a gas line somewhere in the building he'd landed on, and a spark must have ignited it. To his right, on the other end of the building he was lying in, a fire exploded to life, instantly engulfing one end of the building.

The tiny Iron Man pointed to the fire and looked at his companion. "Blake," he heard him say. "Can you put out that fire?"

But at the word "fire," a bolt of energy burst from the Iron Man's hand, and a car next to the building exploded.

"Oops. Gotta work on that too," the Iron Man said. The caped warrior flew over to the fire and started whirling his hammer at incredible speed, creating a massive wind vortex to extinguish the flame. But Pym didn't wait around to watch. He brought his fist up in a surprise punch that caught the Iron Man not looking, and it knocked him away again.

Then Pym jumped up and started running as fast as he could go. He hadn't expected to encounter threats as dangerous as these. He had to get away lest the rest of the swarm smother him. He had no idea where he was going. He had no idea what he was going to do. Blind fear took hold, and he forgot everything else. He just fled in sheer terror. He raced down the city streets, deserted now, trying to put as much distance between himself and these new, terrifying insects, as fast he could.

Unfortunately for the police, he was fleeing at a right angle to the path he'd taken to this point. No longer was he moving in a straight line along the route they had evacuated in front of him. Now he was racing directly toward the heart of The Bronx.

And more than one million people who _hadn't_ been evacuated.


	43. Chapter 43

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 43**

**The Bronx, New York**

Tony Stark flew back to the warrior that was Donald Blake, who was just finishing putting out the fire Stark had started.

"Hast thou finished saving the day, Tony Stark?" the Norseman called. "If so, perhaps thou couldst retire. Methinks the city is safer with thee indoors."

"Could you not call me by name in public? I'd kinda prefer people not know it's me in this thing."

"What shall I call thee then? Mayhaps 'Tin Man' would become thee."

"Yeah, if you only had a brain, Hammer Boy. I'm sorry about the car explosion. But all _you_ did was scare him off."

"Then I shall give pursuit."

"At the speed he's running, he'll be clear of the evacuation path any minute. We gotta make sure he stays where people _aren't_."

"Consider it done, Tin Man." Blake started swinging his hammer.

"Would you cut it out?"

Then Stark's boot repulsors fired, and both men shot off in pursuit of Pym.

* * *

They caught up to him in seconds. Even so, they saw immediately that they had a _major_ problem. Pym had reached a block of condos and townhouses that were still full of people. He had just thundered to a halt in front of it and was bringing his fists over head to pound the townhomes to rubble.

Stark fired his boot repulsors and shot himself like a bullet straight into the middle of Pym's back. The impact brought a hell-defying scream of agony from the giant. Pym dropped to his knees and started falling forward toward the crowded dwellings.

Stark panicked. "Don, can you catch him?!"

The Norseman shot forward, propelled by his hammer, and flew under the Goliath's massive chest. Placing his left hand on Pym's body, he started whirling his hammer behind him with his right hand, faster and faster. He eased the wounded giant back into an upright position.

But even wounded, Pym fought back in terror. Quick as a cat, he reached up and grabbed the warrior, completely engulfing him in one massive paw. Then he turned and threw him at Stark, who was still hovering in midair. Blake collided with Stark, and although each bounced off the other unharmed, Pym was now turning his attention again to smashing the crowded structure below him.

"No!" Stark cried in his metallic voice, and he flew between Pym and the building, and caught the full force of Pym's punch. He fired his boot repulsors in the same instant to absorb the blow. But this pushed him dangerously close to the roof of the building, and his repulsors blasted a wide gash in the rooftops, exposing a couple shivering in terror in a bedroom now exposed to the sky – and to the Goliath's insane rage.

With the fist that Stark wasn't holding, Pym reached down to grab the tiny couple – when suddenly Blake's warrior form swooped out of the sky and scooped them up together in one powerful arm. He flew them to safety on a rooftop six blocks away.

"Henry Pym!" Stark called in his metallic voice, still holding Pym's fist in midair. "We're friends of Janet van Dyne! We're not trying to hurt you! We're here to help!"

But Pym only roared in response, a calamitous, guttural growl of pain, rage and madness. Stark fired his boot repulsors again and pushed Pym's fist close to his face.

"Dr. Pym, you're going to kill somebody! You have to get a hold of yourself! Let us talk to you! That's all we want to do!"

Just then, Pym saw Blake speeding back toward them, flying through the air powered by his hammer. With another lightning fast grab, he opened his fist and snatched Stark out of the air. Then, before Stark could recover, Pym held him directly in the path of the oncoming Blake. With so little time to react, Blake swerved to avoid hitting Stark, but crashed into Pym's chest again, managing to avoid striking him with his hammer only at the last second. The impact rocked Pym back into a building behind him, shattering windows and causing Pym to lose his grip on Stark. Stark fell to the ground as Pym reeled from this fresh blow, leaning against the building to keep himself from collapsing.

Blake sailed down to stand next to Stark. "Our efforts prove futile, my friend. I could fell him with one blow, but I fear it might kill him. I know not yet the limits of mine hammer."

"Same with my repulsors," Stark's metallic voice answered. "Obviously I didn't test them on humans. Plus Pym's out of his mind. He fights like he has a demon in him."

"Behold, he steadies himself!" The warrior pointed. "What say ye?"

"We can_not_ let him keep moving out of the evacuation zone. We're gonna have to take him down and make sure he falls that direction." Stark pointed west. "If it kills him, it kills him. We're gonna have to take the chance. Either your hammer or my repulsor. But we've got to bring him down. Now!"

Stark looked at the Norseman. "So who's it gonna be, me or you?"

Neither seemed enthusiastic. Meanwhile Pym had righted himself after staggering against the building. He was looking down at Blake and Stark even now, raising an enormous foot to stomp them.

"We gotta decide fast!" Stark cried, as he powered up his repulsors and Blake started swirling his hammer. "Who's it gonna be?"

Then, in the blink of an eye, an instant so quick they'd have missed it if they hadn't been looking directly at him, Henry Pym shrank out of view. And the Goliath that had been threatening the lives of a million people, was gone.


	44. Chapter 44

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 44**

**The Bronx, New York**

Janet van Dyne sagged against a concrete column and tried to get control of her frantic breathing. Sweat beaded on her upper lip; she wiped it off with a rugged swipe of the back of her arm. She leaned her head against the column and closed her eyes.

_Thank God! I made it!_

She looked down at Henry Pym, lying – normal sized – in the street below the shattered window on the third-floor where she stood. He was unconscious. But he was alive. She knew because she'd had the same thing done to her.

She looked over at the Particle Device sitting on the floor next to her. Exhaustion starting to make her limbs heavy now that the adrenaline was draining away, she shuffled over, keyed in the commands to shut down the device, and closed the laptop.

She'd done it.

The rampage was over.

She could scarcely believe it herself. Gathering up Pym's Particle Device and throwing it in the back seat of her car, careening through the streets of suburban New York, lurching onto the sidewalk and brazenly rocketing past the police barricade. Then screeching to a halt outside the building and racing up three flights of stairs carrying the Device in both arms, setting it up, and frantically typing commands she'd only just learned. Then hoping against hope that she was close enough, that she was in the right position, that Pym wouldn't run away before she could use the Device. It was all _much_ more than she'd bargained for when she'd decided to help Henry Pym. She breathed deeply as her body continued to calm itself.

It wasn't until she started disconnecting the Device from the laptop that she noticed the two DragonCon characters walking toward Pym's limp form down below. Then one of them – the Tin Man – looked up and saw her. She dropped to her knees and leaned out the broken window.

"Hey! You two stay away from him! He's not well!"

Suddenly, a flash of some kind of energy ignited from the feet of the armored man, and to Janet's terror, she saw him dart straight at her, flying through the air! She felt adrenaline flood her body again, and she scuttered backwards on her hands and feet across broken glass, trying to get away.

The man slowed to a hover outside the window, then negotiated a landing inside. "Janet?"

Janet stopped dead. "You know me?"

"It's me, Tony!"

"Tony who?"

"Tony Stark, who do you think?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "Tony?" She looked him up and down. "If you're Tony, show me your face."

"I can't. This mask is bolted on. I gotta redesign that. But it really is me. You just called me a little while ago. You _told_ me about this, remember?"

Janet struggled to her feet. Her hands were cut and bleeding. Stark clomped toward her, holding his hands extended outward, palms forward, trying to strike as non-threatening a gesture as possible.

"We met at the party a few nights ago," Stark continued convincing her. "I gave you a grant."

Janet was finally starting to believe the armored stranger. "So you're . . . one of those Storm Trooper costume players or something?"

Stark laughed – a bizarre sound through his mechanized voice processor. "No. I designed this. This is real sweetheart."

Janet edged back toward the window. "And who's Thor down there?"

"He's a friend. You can trust him."

Stark looked at the device. Then he turned to Janet, pointing with one armored hand toward Pym, lying in the street below. "Did you do that?"

Janet nodded.

"Holy smokes. A gold star for you."

Just then they heard sirens approaching. Janet hurriedly starting packing up the Particle Device again.

"Tony, we've got to get out of here."

"Why?"

"Are you kidding me? Hank's gonna spend the rest of his life in jail for all the damage he's done. And I'm wanted by the U.S. military."

"The military? You?"

"I can explain later. But right now, I've got to get Hank out of here. Get somewhere that we can make a plan, figure out what we're gonna do. We're in a lot of trouble Tony."

Stark clomped over to the window and looked down. Pym was still unconscious; Blake the warrior stood vigil over him. But the residents of the condos Pym had almost annihilated were already starting to peek out of windows and doors to get a look at things.

Stark turned back to Janet. "Alright, I've got an idea. But you're going to have to trust me."

Janet studied him a moment before answering. "Okay."

Stark turned toward the shattered window. "Hey Doc!" The warrior looked up. "We're gonna have to get out of here! Same way we came! Can you carry him?" Blake nodded.

"Okay Janet. I said you were gonna have to trust me. But I'm not sure you have any idea how much I meant it." He gestured toward the Particle Device. "Can you carry that thing?" Janet nodded. "Alright, get it." Janet did.

"Now come over here and stand on the tops of my boots."

Janet immediately narrowed her eyes. "Seriously?"

"Janet, I'm not kidding. We've got to hurry."

Reluctantly, Janet eased over, turned her back to Stark so the Device was in front of them both, then stepped up onto his boots. Stark immediately wrapped her and the device with one armored arm.

"Alright kiddo. You might want to close your eyes for this."

There was a rising scream like a jet engine powering up inside a soup can. Then Janet felt a lurch in her stomach as they launched skyward from the window ledge. She screamed and nearly dropped the Particle Device. Then she clinched her eyes tightly shut.

She dared to open them again a few seconds later, and was astonished to see the Thor character flying through the air right behind them, holding his massive hammer out in front of him and carrying Hank's still-limp body. Beneath their feet, the earth was receding like on a steep jet take-off. Janet closed her eyes again and felt like she would faint.

_This can't be happening! This can't be happening! This can't be happening!_

She tried to bury her face in the Particle Device, and she clutched the laptop tightly to her chest. The wind whipped her hair so hard it felt like it would tear loose from the roots. She glanced once at the armor casing of Stark's arm and took some small comfort from the fact that it looked invincible. She even had a split-second to appreciate the irony of the fact that she was _thankful_ to have Tony Stark's arm around her. She only prayed that his legendary brilliance carried through to this flying suit of armor. Because that armor-clad arm was the only thing holding her back from falling to her death.

The wind became too much for her after that, and she clinched her eyes tightly shut again. The next time she dared open them, they were already far out over the Atlantic.


	45. Chapter 45

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 45**

**Stark Industries Research Vessel "Lenora," North Atlantic Ocean**

Janet van Dyne sat alone at a long oval table in the conference room on the main deck. She sat perfectly still, head bowed, hands folded on the table in front of her. She made no sound. In fact, the only sounds she could hear were the soft hiss of the air circulation system and the deep, distant rumble from the ship's engines. They sounded so steady, so permanent, like the seasons of the earth or the rising and setting of the sun, like they could go on forever, never disrupted. She let their peaceful whisper wash over her, and let the gentle roll of the ship cradle her.

If she could only stay here forever. Right here, never moving. Soothed by the cool air and rocked by the swells. She could lower the lights and cocoon here. And forget it all, forget everything. All she'd seen. All she'd lost. The life she dreamed of, hoped for, worked for, her whole life - shattered and stolen by the events of the last few days.

It was amazing, yes, some of it. But it was all too much.

Too, too much.

She sighed and closed her eyes.

Just then, the door swung open and Tony Stark walked in, staring down at his tablet device.

"Tell me how this sounds: Stark Industries announced today the establishment of a fund for New York residents affected by yesterday's events, which will be underwritten initially by a grant of 250 million dollars from the company. In announcing the fund, CEO Anthony Stark said, 'In view of the revelation that homeowner policies don't cover damage from nude rampaging giants, Stark Industries wanted to create this fund as a way to give back to the city it calls home.'"

Stark looked up. "Do you think that's an unfair jab at the insurance companies?"

Janet looked back at him, blank.

Stark started talking into the air, evidently already aware of a com-link with Pepper Potts back in New York. "We love it, Pepper. Go with it."

Pepper's voice came out of nowhere. "But Tony, the lawyers—"

"Excuse me, Pepper, the lawyers were also the ones who said his nudity wasn't relevant, and we're _absolutely_ not leaving that out. Go with it."

"Tony—"

"Bye Pepper."

The com-link shut off, and Stark took a seat at the head of the table. "So how are you doing? Can I get you a Fresca?"

Janet stared at Stark a few seconds, and looked for a moment like she might burst into laughter. Then she burst into tears instead.

"Are you kidding me!?"

Stark looked surprised. "What?"

Janet rubbed back tears even as she exploded with emotion. "Hank just destroyed a ten-mile strip of New York! And you ask me, 'What?' He'll be wanted by the police for the rest of his life! You fly me here dangling over the ocean from a mile up like a kid on a carnival ride, and you ask me 'What?' I just witnessed a man fly by nothing but a hammer! I'm wanted by the U.S. military! And my _father_ was killed for God's sake! And you come in here asking me about press statements and sodas?"

Janet buried her face in her hands, sobs pouring from her.

Stark studied her silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he put down his tablet, walked over to a cabinet built into the wall of the room, and got out a box of tissues. He walked over and set them on the table in front of Janet, then sat down in the chair next to hers. He took one tissue out, leaned close, and offered it to her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know about your father."

Janet nodded, took the tissue and kept crying.

"But I do think I have some idea of what you're going through." Stark heaved a deep breath. "My parents were killed too."

Janet looked up, her tears arrested by this revelation. "They were?"

Stark nodded.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know." Janet took a moment to dab her eyes. "It's just, you seemed so chipper." She thought a second. "I guess you don't have the luxury of mourning when you have a big company to run."

"Well. It could be that." Stark snatched another tissue from the box. "Or it could be that I'm just an insensitive pig."

This brought a smile to Janet's lips even though she was still crying. "Don't say that. At least you still _have_ your company. That's better than my prospects. Any hope I had of a career is gone now." Janet shook her head. "I have no idea what I'm going to do."

Stark leaned back in his chair. "I have an idea."

Janet looked up. "You do?"

"Stay here. Work with me."

Janet looked around. "On a ship?"

Stark snickered. "No, not on the ship, goofy. Here, in Stark Industries. Help your friend Pym get healthy again, then help him _and_ me get his device working right."

Janet thought a second. "Oh I . . . couldn't."

"Why not? What are your options? You can't go home. You can't even go back to Pym's place; the cops will be all over it. Look, we've got some housing on our campus back in Queens. We use it when foreign researchers come over. It's nothing fancy, but we could fix one up for you. No one has to know you're there. Lay low. Keep working on your father's research. See what happens. I've got what you might call 'a few' connections in the military. Maybe I can get 'em off your back."

Janet was amazed! She felt a tear start into her eye again, but not of helpless sorrow now. Of gratitude.

"Why . . . would you do all this for me?" she stammered.

Tony smirked. "Uh, excuse me, but didn't you just shrink a rampaging giant back to normal and save who knows how many lives?"

Janet lowered her head and smiled despite her tears. "Yes."

"Alright then. I think that's worth something. So what do you say?"

Janet looked ready to say yes on the spot. Then a shadow crossed her face, and she frowned. "But I still have to find out who killed my father."

"Well what do you know," Stark feigned surprise. "I have to find out who killed _my_ parents, too." Stark extended a hand. "Tell you what: you help me with my search, and I'll help you with yours. Deal?"

Janet looked at his face, then his hand, this back to his face, her eyes still full of amazement. "Nothing stops you, does it?"

"Akevitt is the only thing I've found so far."

Janet laughed again with tears still wet on her cheeks, then at last took his hand and shook it. "I don't know what to say. Thank you hardly seems enough. So I guess I'll just say . . . I _accept_."

"Great!" Stark said, shaking her hand. "I was hoping you would. Because, you know, I don't believe any of this has just been coincidence."

Janet looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Just then the intercom buzzed. A man's voice came over it. "Tony, it's Don."

"Yeah Don."

"Dr. Pym is waking up."

"Alright, I'll be right down."

Stark motioned to Janet. "Come on. He's gonna need you."


	46. Chapter 46

**Avengers: Unbreakable**

_The Avengers and all related characters and settings are the property of Marvel Inc. and their respective affiliates. All rights reserved (by them, not me). _

**Episode 1: Confluence**

**Chapter 46**

**Stark Industries Research Vessel "Lenora," North Atlantic Ocean**

Henry Pym was awake when Tony Stark and Janet van Dyne walked into his small room in the sick bay of the ship. His arms and legs were strapped down with restraints. Dr. Donald Blake was sitting on the edge of the bed checking Pym's blood pressure. He rose when the others entered.

Pym looked up first at Stark, then shifted his eyes to Janet. And kept them there.

"Janet?"

Janet looked embarrassed. "Hi Henry."

"Where am I?"

Stark interjected. "You're on my ship."

Blake looked at Stark.

"I'm sorry. We haven't been properly introduced. My name is Tony Stark. I'm the CEO of Stark Industries. You're on one of my research vessels in the North Atlantic."

Stark saw Pym's eyes dart to Blake, then back to Janet.

"You're safe here," Stark added. "We're friends."

Pym's mind was still trying to process. "How did I get here."

Stark, Blake and Janet all exchanged uncertain glances.

"We . . . flew," Stark replied.

Pym nodded. "What happened?"

Janet moved closer. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I remember you coming over. I remember we were working together to get the melanin compound into the Device." Pym hesitated. "After that, it gets hazy. Like a fever dream. I saw Maria, alive. And she was angry at me. Then I was surrounded by insects. They were swarming all over me, in my mouth, in my ears. And there were two especially nasty ones that fought back every time I tried to squish them."

Blake and Stark looked at each other and grinned.

"It doesn't make any sense." Pym looked down and for the first time noticed his restraints. "Why these?"

Janet and Stark looked at each other. Stark drew his mouth up in a grimace. "He's gonna need to know everything. He'll find out sooner or later anyway."

Pym studied their faces. "Find out what?"

Janet sat down on the edge of Pym's bed. "Hank, that wasn't a dream. It was real."

* * *

For the next hour and a half, Stark and Janet explained to Pym everything that had happened to him, to them, to his house, and to New York City, during his psychotic break. They went slowly; at times, Pym's head would loll back, as if his brain were about to break again trying to absorb this news.

When they finished, Pym let his head drop back onto his pillow. He stared at the ceiling for a long time and said nothing. At last, he looked at Stark.

"So you're the Iron Man?"

Stark nodded.

Pym looked at Blake. "And you're the Thor character?"

Blake nodded.

Pym looked at Janet. "And you're the one who saved me."

Janet looked down, modestly.

Pym looked back at the ceiling and thought a moment more.

"And I'm the criminal."

Janet leaned forward and put her hand on his arm. "Hank, it wasn't your fault. You suffered a complete psychotic break. Which, after everything that happened to you, is understandable. That wasn't you out there tearing up the city."

"Wasn't me?" Pym raised his head and glared at her. "So there's more than one 65-foot giant living in New York?"

"She means that you weren't in control of your faculties," Blake interjected. "People who've suffered a total psychotic break have no grasp of the difference between reality and the phantasms in their minds. That's accepted medical consensus."

Pym looked at Blake, then back at Janet. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to help. But most people aren't 65 feet tall when they have a psychotic break. They tear out their ventilation ducts because they're convinced the CIA is listening to them. I tear up three-hundred blocks of the most expensive real estate in the country."

"But Stark Industries is going to pay for that," Stark said. "All of it."

Pym looked back at Stark and said nothing for a few moments, as if his mind were trying to process this new information. Finally, he let his head sink back into the pillow.

"I can't let you do that."

"It's already done pal. The press release is going out as we speak."

Pym shook his head. "It's still my fault. How many people did I kill?"

"None," Stark said. "It's amazing. Now, there are a few who are going to be in traction for a while, but Stark Industries will cover that too."

"It doesn't matter. Even with the damages paid, I'm guilty of a hundred felonies." Pym shook his head again. "No. I'm going to have to turn myself in."

Stark cocked his head to one side. "Okay." He paused, formulating his thoughts. "But what if you could pay your debt to society another way?"

Pym glanced at him with sullen eyes. "What way?"

Stark pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. He leaned close to Pym, suddenly very intense, talking quickly in hushed tones. "Stay here with me, within Stark Industries. Go off the grid. Resume your work, only this time, with me. Let me help you perfect it, miniaturize it, harness it better."

Pym would have sat bolt upright in protest had the restraints not held him down.

"Are you _kidding_ me? I've just destroyed the homes of hundreds of people, and I'm supposed to just resume my work like nothing happened? Just because I stumbled on the Particles doesn't make me immune to the law. I owe a debt to society. A huge one. I have to pay it!"

Stark fired back unapologetically. "And how is it in society's best interest for one of the most brilliant scientists in history to rot in a jail cell?"

"By keeping him from _destroying_ that society!" Pym cried. "Look what I've done. Look what I became! My work is like Frankenstein!"

Janet entered the fray. "Your work is the most amazing breakthrough in human physiology in . . . forever!"

"So what!? What good is it? What am I gonna do, hire myself out to pick coconuts?"

"The practical applications aren't known yet," Janet countered. "But they will become clearer with time. Right now, Tony's right. We have to understand it better, replicate it, harness it."

As Janet talked, Stark got up and started pacing.

"Alright listen. I've been thinking about this. I want you to hear me out. I develop a suit of armor that flies, that makes me virtually invincible, that can be weaponized like a tank." He looked around at the others, but they said nothing. He was stating the obvious.

"Okay. Then, just by coincidence, at almost exactly the same time, Don – after a lifetime of fruitless searching for an artifact that any sane person would say was a fable – finds a walking stick that turns him into a Norse god."

Blake nodded, as if he could already see where Stark was going.

"Then just by coincidence, you two meet, and Janet's contributions to your research - just by coincidence - turn out to be just what you need to develop a device that shrinks or grows living beings to incredible sizes. And just by coincidence, the four people that these things happen to all live within twenty miles of each other."

Stark looked around at the others. "Is this really coincidence?"

"What are you suggesting?" Blake asked.

"That these developments are _not_ coincidence. They all have one common denominator: they give us the abilities to do things no humans have ever done before. Abilities we can use to do good in the world."

Pym interrupted immediately. "No. No!"

"Why not?" Stark asked.

"Who decides what's good? I started out thinking _my_ research was good. Look how _that_ turned out."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Janet said. "Keep gifts like these to ourselves? If there's one thing my father taught me, it was to leverage my God-given abilities to try to do good for the rest of the world. These are tremendous abilities. They should be leveraged."

Pym sneered. "Let me guess: 'With great power comes great responsibility.' Is that it?"

Blake stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I think it goes further than that. With great power, and great responsibility, comes the moral imperative to do good."

Stark looked at Blake, impressed. "Is that Kant?"

Blake shook his head. "I think I just made it up."

Pym still resisted. "We may start out thinking to do good with them. Maybe we even would for a while. But other entities would eventually get their hands on them. Governments, militaries. Eventually, our 'gifts' would be turned for evil."

"Then we don't _let_ anyone else get their hands on them," Stark said. "We keep the technologies to ourselves. Tightly controlled. Secret. Right here within the company. We never share them."

"You're crazy if you think _that_ will work," Pym protested.

"No I'm not. I'm just brilliant. And so are you."

Stark stopped suddenly after he said this, and studied Pym hard for a minute. Then he narrowed his eyes knowingly.

"And that's why you're still arguing with us, isn't it. You _know_ this is doable. Just as you've _also_ observed that this is all a little too coincidental to ignore. And you're testing the argument, trying to see if there are holes in it." Stark leaned in close again. "Isn't that right?"

Pym didn't answer. But he didn't deny the charge either.

Blake spoke up. "You're saying this isn't just coincidence, Tony. What else could it be?"

"I don't know. But I'm an honest enough scientist to know I'm when looking at _some_ kind of phenomenon, even if I don't understand it yet. Now I don't know whether you believe in God, or fate, or cosmic forces, or whatever you want to call it. But the probability that three developments like these would occur so tightly clustered in time and space is infinitesimally small. And if it didn't happen by chance, then I submit to you that there is at least the _possibility_ that we were, in some sense I wouldn't even begin to claim to understand, _meant_ to develop these capabilities. _And_ meant to find each other."

Stark looked back at Pym. "And if that's true, then we are meant to do more with them than stuff them back in test tubes and let them rot in academic journals. We're meant to _be_ something more."

Pym stared at the ceiling again. "You make it sound noble." Pym shook his head. "But I'm afraid any chance I had at nobility is gone now."

There were several moments of silence after that. Then Janet began again, softly.

"Hank, think of your wife."

Pym looked at her with sadness in his eyes. "What does she have to do with this."

Janet rubbed a hand across the bed nervously before continuing.

"Think back on the night she was murdered. Think of the men who killed her. What if you had had these abilities that night? What if you knew then what you know now? You could have stopped them. You could have fought them off with ease. And Maria would still be with you today. Now, I know you can't bring her back. But you have it within your power to prevent countless evil acts from being committed against good people just like her. You say that continuing your research would be selfish, shirking your debt to society. Well I say _not_ continuing it would be selfish. On the contrary, using it for good in the world would honor to her memory. It would be a way she could leave a legacy of good in this world, through _you_."

It was clear in Pym's eyes that this line of reasoning resonated deeply with him. Tears welled up in them as he looked back at the ceiling.

Janet put her hand on his arm again. "Think of it Henry. You can become the man she always knew you were on the inside. A man of greatness. A giant of a man . . . both literally and figuratively."

No one said anything for a long time after that. Pym lay staring at the ceiling, deep in thought. Janet kept her eyes fixed hopefully on Pym. Blake and Stark remained silent.

Finally, a look of resolve began to dawn on Pym's face, and at last he looked back at Janet.

"You're right. I could do it for her."

Janet put a hand reassuringly on Pym's arm again. "It would make her proud."

Pym smiled and looked back at the ceiling. "Yes. Yes it would."

Tell you what," Stark interjected. "Why don't we get those restraints off of you, get you something to eat, and resume this conversation in the conference room." He patted Pym reassuringly on the shoulder. "We have a lot to talk about."

* * *

Janet, Blake and Pym sat at three of the four compass points around the conference room table. Stark paced at the front of the room. Pym was downing the last of _five_ chicken salad sandwiches Stark had ordered up from the messdeck.

"So what are we talking about," Pym said. "Making the Particle Device a project within Stark Industries?"

"A whole new division, pal," Stark answered.

"Just for the Device?"

"For everything. Your device. My suit. Don's . . . whatever that is he does."

"But you just said we'd keep it secret," Blake said.

"We will. Just the four of us. No one else will have access to anything this division does."

"A whole new division of Stark just for four people?" Pym sounded skeptical.

"Yep."

"And with a whopping staff of four, we're gonna go out and 'do good' in the world?"

"Yep."

"What, like we're superheroes or something?"

"No," Blake and Janet said together.

"Yes," said Stark.

Pym rolled his eyes. "This is crazy."

Janet sat forward in her chair. "Well, crazy or not, I'm in." She slapped a hand on the table for emphasis. "Tony and I already discussed it."

Pym looked at Janet. "You did?"

Janet nodded.

Stark winked at her. Then he looked at Blake. "Don?"

Blake looked up from rubbing his chin. "Well I still have my practice to run."

"Of course." Stark got up and walked around the table toward Blake. "Plus, you have the added advantage that the world didn't see you naked at the size of a skyscraper on TV. I'm not suggesting you would have to stay here and work here like Hank and Janet. But whatever we do as a team, we would do together."

Blake looked thoughtful. "I still have much to learn about these . . . powers, whatever they are. I suppose it would be good to have colleagues help me through that." Blake looked around at the others. "And less lonely. It would be nice to finally have people who understand me."

Blake slapped his hand on the table too. "Alright. I'm in."

"Excellent!" Stark cried. "Well, since I'm the CEO who made the . . . _very generous_ offer to pay off all that damage, fund this new division, _and_ make my facilities available for it, I think we can assume I'm in. So that leaves only one more."

Stark looked as dramatically as he could toward Pym. Janet and Blake looked at him too.

Still, Pym hesitated. He sat motionless in his chair, head down, chin propped on his hand, thinking hard for several more moments, as if still trying to conclude some enormous internal debate. When at last he spoke, his voice was soft and calm.

"If we're going to do this, there's only one thing I ask."

"Shoot," Stark said.

Pym got a distant look in his eyes. "That as soon as we get these technologies figured out, our first mission is to go back to Serbia and settle the score with those men who killed Maria." Pym broke from his empty stare to look around at the others.

"That we avenge the murder of my wife."

Janet looked at him and nodded. "And my father." Pym nodded agreement.

"And my parents," Stark added. "And the attack on me." Pym and Janet both nodded affirmation of this as well.

The three looked at Blake, as if he should have something to avenge. He improvised.

"And the fact that my walking stick is so ugly." He slapped it up on the table. The others laughed.

"Fine," Janet said. "Then we'll call our team The Avengers."

"The Avengers," Stark echoed. "I like it. Short. Catchy. You could name a drink after it."

"Sounds good to me," Pym added.

Blake nodded concurrence.

"Alright then," Stark concluded. "The Avengers it is." He pounded a fist on the table. "Done!"

Then he leaned forward, his eyes dancing as he looked around at the others.

"Now let's get started."

THE END


End file.
